


Smoke Signals

by tango1_1



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Galra Empire, M/M, Major World Building, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Slow Burn, Space Dad Shiro (Voltron), give shiro a hug 2k16, lance flirts with every alien ever, oh my, season continuation, shance, written pre-season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 22:35:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 50,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8465548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tango1_1/pseuds/tango1_1
Summary: When they say that life flashes before your eyes when you die, they’re lying. Lance and Shiro get lost. And then, perhaps, they get found?





	1. Unhinged

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all!  
> Looking forward to the hefty NaNoWriMo season. There aren't enough fics of these two that aren't pure smut (not that I'm opposed to that) so I've decided to go in for the long haul and write a series. Chapters will be posted every three days.  
> All characters in this fic are above the age of consent. Since ages are unconfirmed and the writers said most characters are in their late teens, I'm choosing to interpret that as 18 or older.  
> Enjoy!

When they say that life flashes before your eyes when you die, they’re lying. Life isn’t pinpoint, doesn’t just pass you by in the blink of a second. You get as much time to think about it as it takes for your breaths to disappear. Time for one memory, maybe.

For Lance, that memory is Varadero Beach.

The silky sand-like silt, the rush of water as it topples over itself onto the shore; it’s relief, and familiarity. When he was young, Lance would run to the edge of the water, careful bare feet across burning hot sand. And then a rush of cold. He’d just stand there sometimes, as the tide came in, feeling the drastic but fleeting difference as it washed over his toes.  And sure, there were screaming children and tomato red tourists and fifty ice cream stands per mile, but if you went out far enough, it felt like standing at the edge of the world. Or at least, that's what Lance thought, when he had no idea what standing at the edge of the world, the universe, really felt like. Not nearly this familiar. This comforting.

And alright, maybe the memory does slow down. But it isn’t enough, Lance had been depending on that myth of life flashing before his eyes. He desperately needs that time to think about his mother’s hugs, his brother’s messy hair in the morning, his pubescent older sister when she was learning to perfect her makeup, his abuelita’s soft smile and strong personality. But it’s pulled right from him, and in the blink of an eye, he’s thrown back into reality.

And why does Lance know he’s going to die? Well, the more subtle sign that everything is going terribly wrong is the blinking light settled just to the right of his data screen, like the one you get when you’re running out of gas. But Blue has never been one for subtlety. The instant they’re pulled from Allura’s ship, sirens go off in Lance’s head. He can feel his lion calling out to him, instructing and crying and _pleading_ for them both to get out of here. It almost hurts.

It _does_ hurt. Now, Lance has never been thrown into a corrupted wormhole before, but it’s not exactly a gentle experience. He’s barely able to stay in his seat, thrown left and right with each distortion of the air around him.

And it’s surreal, really. The way his ears pop and head rings. And what really weirds him out is that in the midst of all this, his first thoughts aren’t _how do I escape,_ they’re _wow, beautiful._ Because through the viewing screen he can see _color_ , twisting and distorting, spiraling around his lion in a centrifugal storm. Lance finds it hard to believe he isn’t watching a CGI scene from some big budget film. That would be so much easier to accept than what’s actually happening.

If he wasn’t so tightly strapped to his seat, well, he probably wouldn’t have time to think about this view, would probably already be long gone. Blue is doing everything she can to keep him safe. And in a moment of lucidity, Lance gets an urge to protect her too. You could call it his pseudo-maternal instinct. With a desperate breath of muggy air, he sits up and takes hold of the controls. Lance really isn’t in the condition you’d want him in to be piloting a giant space beast, but hey, he does his best.

Blue veers to the right, falls hundreds of feet. Hits the outer edge of the wormhole with a distinctive bang. She spins, and spins, and spins.

And suddenly, everything is quiet.

\--

 

_Fuck._

Splitting headache.

_Fuck._

Regained memories.

_Fuck._

Intake of surroundings.

_Fuck fuck fuck._

The first thing Lance notices is that he’s hanging. Sturdy woven straps make an x across his chest, holding him in place. His legs and arms dangle below him, numb and tingly from from the blood pressure. He opens and closes one hand, and his muscles tense all the way up to his neck, promptly sending a jolt to pain straight to the back of his head. Lance lets out a hiss, face distorting with the discomfort. But he keeps moving his hands. Snapping, twiddling thumbs, anything to get the sensation back.

When he can feel again, he reaches up to take off his helmet, wet on the inside from sweat and condensation. He rolls his shoulders once, then twice, and opens his eyes. And sweet shitstorm, his lion is _wrecked._ Cracked monitors, blown wires hanging from broken generator compartments, dents and burn marks that he didn’t know were even possible. And it’s frightening, in a sense, to see something he thought was indestructible bare so many injuries.

But Blue isn’t the only one. After the initial shock, Lance takes a closer look at his armor. The stuff is at its breaking point, scratched and torn with spots of blood soaking their way through the fabric. Luckily, it seems that his wounds stop at the surface of his skin. Lance looks from left to right, up and down, and determines that yes, his head and neck are super sore, but not too badly injured. Had he not been wearing his helmet, had he not been thoroughly strapped to his chair, Lance probably would have been a lot worse off.

“Thanks buddy.” he says into nothing.

And that’s unsettling, that nothing. The soft whisper against his consciousness, the feeling of comfort in psychological companionship, it’s distinctly not there. Sure the broken glass and dents are bad, but no voice from his lion? That’s when he knows that something is wrong.

The adrenaline has passed but the panic is still there, thoughts firing off on his brain about _where am I_ and _what’s wrong with Blue_ and _how the hell am I supposed to get down from here so I can stop dangling like an idiot and actually do something?_ He ponders the fall, if it will injure him much. It’s not far, but the surface he’ll be landing on is broken glass. Not exactly a safety net. And while he would never admit it if someone asked, Lance isn’t exactly the most graceful.

In the end, he depends on whatever his lanky muscles and 2 semesters of gymnastics are worth. Unbuckling himself from his seat, Lance holds onto the straps with a death-like grip, lowering himself down. By the time his arms are straight above his head, his feet can easily touch the ground.

That’s when Lance notices he’s standing in a puddle. His following thoughts are in this order:

_No, I couldn’t have, did I really that’s so gross-_

_Water, I’m standing in water that’s good it means the planet is inhabitable-_

_WHY IS THERE WATER IN MY SHIP_

Lance frantically climbs down to the entrance, opens it up, and well. That’s a stupid decision. Water comes gushing in through the new opening, a palish green color in the dim light. Lance notices this because suddenly he’s under it, unable to breath and surrounded by floating bits of glass. And suddenly he’s sinking, quickly, towards whatever body of water the rush had come from. _Armor is not made for swimming_ , he notes. Lance grabs onto a wall and carefully pulls his body to the surface. A gasp for air. Another.

It isn’t an easy decision to strip out of his protective covering, seeing as who knows what will be there to greet him when he swims to the surface. _Who_ will be there to greet him. But Lance knows he can’t stay in his lion forever, as much as that would be ideal.

Blue isn’t here. It’s terrifying, but very much a reality.

A tank top and a pair of boxers aren’t exactly the most substantial outer layer, but they’ll have to do.

A deep breath in, and he’s back down again. Now not to brag or anything, but Lance can hold his breath for a really long time. As a kid, he used to have contests with his sister in the bathtub to see who could last the longest. Of course, though, she always cheated because she counted really slow whenever it was his turn to try.

_His sister._

He swims deeper.

And out. As he gets closer to the surface, Lance realizes that it wasn’t just the lighting in his lion that was making the water seem green. It really is that color, thick with moss and iridescent minerals. Small, eel-like fish swim all around him, scattering whenever a limb comes near. If he wasn’t so distressed he would have found it beautiful, the way the water shimmers, moving as if it’s alive.

When he comes up to breathe, the first thing Lance notices is the lack of light. He rubs the water from his eyes, and just, stops. The view is breathtaking, reaches him past the panic and takes ahold of his thoughts. Trees as tall as mountains reach towards the sky, spreading out at the top and creating an umbrella of foliage as they weave into one another. Their roots line the floor of what he wants to describe as a jungle, and only disappear underneath the thick cloud of moss that he’s wading in. It’s a lake, more like a small pool really, with a current that floats him slowly downstream. Off to his right, water topples over itself, falling endlessly from wall of green stone. To his left, that water continues over the edge of a small cliff, to another conjunction down below. And his poor lion, she’s half drowned, with only her legs and back sticking out onto the shore.

The second thing Lance notices is the humidity. The air is thick, breathing it feels like inhaling steam. When he finally gets to the edge of water, he needs to take more than a few breaths to regain his sense of lucidity. He sits down.

_Alright,_ he thinks, _I’m stuck on a planet with no way to contact the other paladins, but hey, at least this planet is inhabitable. And not filled with Galra._

_I think._

_I don’t really know, but at least there aren’t any here._

It’s either a sigh of relief or fear that falls from Lance’s lips.

_Jesus, I’m completely alone._

He lets his face fall into his hands, and bends forward until his whole upper body is slumped between his legs. A moan of frustration. Another shallow breath of dense air.

“What am I going to do?”

\--

 

Never tell Lance he isn’t one to bounce back. He may complain a lot, but he is one kick-ass trooper when he needs to be.

Soon after his Angst At The Water™, Lance got to work. After all, who knew when help would arrive and fetal position wasn’t getting him anywhere. He spent the next few hours trying to figure out how retrieve his most important things out of his lion. His headphones and mp3 player were top priority, and let’s just say he tested how air-tight his space suit really was.

You have no idea how comforting it is to hear your favorite tunes until you’re stranded alone on an uninhabited planet. Lance isn’t good at silence, it’s a constant reminder that life can leave without an imprint. It’s just something he doesn’t need to think about, a footnote on his list of worries. And that’s what Lance is doing right now, worrying. Figuring out how he’s going to survive until he’s picked up in the shiny blue castle ship and whisked away to his food goo and his _bed_.

Clothes and armor hang on twisted branches, and Lance sits atop his lion - bayard on one side and ipod on the other - as he tries to decode the mess that is Blue’s in-case-of-emergency kit. Food, supplies, and a lengthy instruction manual that would be great except that it’s in _Altean._ Very helpful.

And that’s when it happens.

At first it sounds like a high pitched whining noise, but as it gets closer it turns into a deep rumble. Loud, and clear, and very possibly something really, really bad. A ship is falling from the sky, soaring towards the ground at hundreds of miles per hour. Lance jumps up on his lion and climbs to the highest point he can, trying to get a look at whatever is about to crash. Through the trees, he can just barely see the shape of something familiar. A shiver goes through him, relief, then fear, then impatience. He holds his breath as a lion comes spiraling towards the ground.  

The whole planet shakes when it hits. Lance almost falls off his lion, catching himself right before he plunges back into the lake. And the crash is loud, leaves his ears ringing, leaves him wondering how he could have possibly been unconscious during his landing. Lance’s alarm clock ain’t got shit on the volume of sheer noise that comes from up ahead.

You have never seen someone put on soggy sneakers and a jacket so fast.

He’s half way up a slippery pile of roots when he stops, and looks back. Blue. There’s no way something could happen to her. No one’s here, and even if there was someone they wouldn’t have a strength to haul a giant, hundred ton space cat anywhere far.

“I’ll be right back buddy,” he says before turning around, continuing to run.

\--

 

The trek is longer than Lance had initially thought. Sweaty and out of breath, he finishes off the last of a disposable water bottle. He had been walking for hours towards the direction of the crash, but it was only minutes ago that he caught the tail end of the lion’s skid marks. He uses it like a path, hiking through mud and broken roots until he reaches a clearing. It’s brighter than he expected, light shines through where the ship had torn down trees. Lance gave up running hours ago, but when he sees the lion’s color, he goes for the sprint.

_It’s okay, I’m going to survive this. Shiro will be here with me._

And then

_I really shouldn’t be so dependent on him._

And then

_Shit, I hope he’s even alive._

\--

 

It’s easy to get used to the technology you’re provided. Like his headphones for example, Lance is at the point where he literally cannot get to sleep without listening to music. You take something for granted, and don’t realize just how important it is until it isn’t there. Another example: the cryo-pods. Lance had always assumed that if anyone on the team got injured, we could just shove ’em in a pod and in a few days, they would be all well and dandy. Everything would be okay.

Shiro is out cold when Lance finds him. His body is covered in cuts and bruises, barely hanging over the control seat that he’s been tightly bound to. And I mean, Lance knows very basic medical. He knows to check for pulse, to see if he’s breathing, to see if any limbs are not where they should be or any cuts too deep. Lance rolls the procedures off his tongue like a mantra, hoping that hearing them out loud will actually make him calm enough to follow through. Okay, has a pulse. Okay, is breathing.

Shiro’s pretty alive. That’s good. What Lance doesn’t know is if he has any head damage. Carefully, he unbuckles the body from the chair, sliding Shiro  down so he lays flat on the floor of the control room. Lance peels off his damp jacket and places it under Shiro as makeshift head and neck support. And then he waits.

Lance takes off his wet sneakers and props himself up against a wall, but his eyes don’t leave Shiro for a moment. Any sign of movement would be ideal, other than the shallow rise and fall of his breathing. If he thinks about it, Lance has no idea how long he was unconscious before he woke up here. It could have been hours, days even. Hell, he doesn’t know, Shiro might never wake up.

An hour passes.

Two hours pass.

Lance begins to drift in and out of sleep, realizing for the first time just how worn out he is. It’s not exactly a low key activity trying to survive in a mysterious, tropical wasteland in the middle of god knows where. He sighs into his own drowsiness, leaning against what is probably the most comfortable metal surface he’s ever felt.

And of course, it’s at this moment that Shiro decides to wake up. A small shift, and Lance is on alert before he even realizes what’s happening. His eyes open, and he scrambles over to where he had heard the noise. He leans over the larger man, peering down at him with hopeful anxiety.

Shiro shifts to the left, then to the right, then reaches up to gently massage his own head. He opens his eyes, and instantly his body goes rigid. For a moment, the air feels still.

“Lance.”

The teen lets out a breath and smiles gently, relief written all over his face.

“Hey bud, how are you feeling?”

Shiro doesn’t respond then, and suddenly Lance realizes just how close they are. He opts to give him some space, and sits back beside him. Slowly as not to hurt himself, Shiro pulls his body up so his back leans against the base of the pilot’s seat.

Shiro had not been expecting to wake up with Lance just inches from his face, but he didn’t expect this even more. He gets a full view of the boy in front of him, the thin crusty lines and purple speckles that lace his body. His soaked white tank, which does a terrible job of covering up just how injured he really is. He looks him up and down, inspecting to make sure none of his wounds are too bad, wondering if there is anything he can do to patch them up.

Lance shifts under the scrutiny, and speaks in attempt to cover his own awkwardness.

_Say something to break the tension,_ he thinks, _something that will put Shiro at ease._

“Like what you see?” some idiot asks. Certainly not him. Nope, nope, nope, and he definitely doesn’t wink at him afterward.

Lance is convinced his brain isn’t connected to the rest of his body. If it were, he would have said something, I don’t know, _comforting_ to Shiro? Like hey man, it’ll be okay. But Lance learns something new about himself, apparently even in serious situations he can’t turn off flirt mode. He then proceeds to make the situation worse by turning into a tomato.

Shiro doesn’t seem to be quite as mortified as Lance is. He eases into the familiarity of his friend’s personality, visibly becoming more relaxed.

“You’re pretty banged up,” he comments.

Lance rubs at the back of his head, a nervous tick he developed in attempts to look casual.

“Oh, yeah, but it’s okay. Chicks dig scars.”

Wooh, wrong thing to say. Shiro goes quiet again.

Lance had been been alone with Shiro before, had even spent extended hours with just the two of them, training or watching weird Altean chick flicks or trying to find the perfect recipe for makeshift eyeliner. He likes to think they had gotten pretty close, or at least, past the point where it wouldn’t be this _awkward._ The silence grinds on for way too long. Lance tries to think of something to ease the tension, move forward so they aren’t just sitting here without direction. He looks around, and notices something key about the cockpit.

“Hey, it looks like your lion got a lot less beat up that ol’ Blue. Her interior’s pretty wrecked. But your monitor’s intact, maybe if we’re lucky we can reach Allura and get out of here, that is, I mean. Um. If you’re not in too much pain. How’s your body holding up?”

Shiro stretches, moves his arms in circles and his head from left to right. Then he finally responds with more than a few words.

“Well, I’m not in tip top condition but I don’t think I’m hurt too bad to stand. That’s a good idea, Lance, but there’s a problem. My connection with Black is iffy at best, I can barely feel her at the back of my head so I don’t know how much I can do.”

But this is great news to Lance. “Hey, man, that’s better than me. I woke up this morning to silence. If you’ve got any connection at all, that’s a good thing.”

Shiro shoots a worried look. Lance rubs at the back of his head, harder this time.

“No, no, I’m okay, I just think we need to try and get ahold of someone in case that spark goes out. Then we really will be stranded.”

His expression doesn’t change, but he nods his head. They both stand up and walk over to the display panel. First, Shiro tries moving around levers, touching panels to see if anything will happen. No results. He then picks his helmet off the floor. Tries activating the mic, tries hooking it up to the communication system underneath the wall of glowing screens. Still nothing.

“Come on, champ, you can do it,” he whispers, giving her cold surface an encouraging pat.

A period of silence passes, strained with the hope that something will happen. Lance leans in like a kid at a horror movie waiting for the jump scare. He holds his breath.

And then, a fuzzy image appears on the monitor. Allura.

_“Shiro? Is that you?”_ The voice comes through scratchy on the intercom, barely audible but there nonetheless.

“Houston, we’ve got contact!” Lance practically shouts. “Allura, baby, can you hear me?”

_“... Hi Lance.”_

“Allura,” Shiro speaks up, “Lance and I have ended up together on the same planet. I don’t think any of the other paladins are here. Have you been able to reach them?”

_“Unfortunately, no. Coran has had his hands full with fixing damage made to the ship. I’ve been searching for the other lions, but you’ve been the first to successfully contact us. I’m glad to see you’re both okay, I wish I could say I knew that for the rest of the paladins.”_ Her fuzzy figure moves on the screen, head falling into hands.

“Hey, it will be okay Allura. I’m sure they’re just fine. Just tell us what we need to do, and we’ll do it.” Shiro doesn’t look as confident as he sounds, but his words help. Allura straightens up in her seat again, determination regained.

_“Alright, if I can just trace our connection, in a few days, I can-”_

It cuts out.

.

“Shit.”

Shiro curses under his breath. And that’s when Lance knows they’re really in deep, because Shiro never swears. Like, _ever._

So he steps up. “Hey, my dude, it’ll be alright. Let’s just take this one step at a time. Come outside with me and we can figure out what to do.”

He places a comforting hand on Shiro’s shoulder. He flinches under the touch. Lance removes his hand just as quickly.

\--

 

By the time they exit Black, the sun already hangs low in the sky. Or, the light source. Whatever giant star which keeps this planet alive. The humid air isn’t nearly is bad without the blistering heat to accompany it, but the remaining canopy of trees blocks out most of the sky’s light. It’s still relatively warm, but the temperature is dropping at a rather fast pace.

Boy, Lance is willing to bet he stinks. Shiro may have a little dried blood here and there, but it’s nothing much. The inside of his lion was pretty dry. Meanwhile, Lance has been swimming and hiking, crawling and climbing through dirt and foliage. And let’s just say his soaked shirt isn’t just from his experience in the lake. His skin has a solid outer layer, of mud and blood and sweat. He’s sure that if he doesn’t completely smell like a wildchild, he at least looks like one. He runs his hand through his hair and just to send that extra little wave on confirmation, it sticks that way. Gross. Not exactly a side of himself he wanted Shiro to see. But hey, it’s whatever.

They walk over and around the lion, into a small patch of space along her side. Her body is curved to create the perfect site for them to set up some kind of camp. Lance is pretty sure Coran packed their emergency kits, so who knows what’s in Shiro’s, but _he_ at least got as much as a lighter and a knife. It could be nice to get a fire going, for comfort if not actual warmth. He suggests this to the man standing beside him.

And off they go. Lance searches for something dry enough to act as firewood, while Shiro goes back inside to look for supplies. An hour later, and they’ve fallen into a productive silence, Shiro taking inventory, Lance placing stones in a circle.

“You may not know this,” Lance begins, “but I got the golden prize badge for building bonfires at my fourth grade boot camp. They would call me the inferno king.”

“Mhm,”

“-Some-”

Lance struggles with his lighter

“-even to this day-”

these damn smoky branches won’t _light_

“-still see me as an icon, an idol to look up to in times of need.”

.

“Um, Lance?”

The boy is practically hitting the lighter against the wood now, just trying to get a little bit of spark and glow out of the damn stuff, but it sizzles out the moment he makes any progress.

“Yeah?” he practically grunts.  

Shiro finally turns to look at him now, both amusement and pity written all over his face.

“Do you need some help?”

“What? No. I’ve totally got this. Don’t you worry your pretty little head” -huff- “about” -huff- “anything.”

A knowing look is cast Lance’s way before Shiro goes back to what he’s doing.

“Alright.”

A few tries later and bam. Fire. Now, nothing Lance had said was really untrue, per say. He _was_ the earner of a shiny gold badge for his fire-building skills at camp. What he _wasn’t_ was allowed to actually _light_ the fires. Burning wood and regional parks don’t exactly get along. But hey, this one’s a beauty, with her distinct lack of any actual flames and her creation of a nice upward stream of smoke.

“You know what? I like it. Maybe we can use it as a smoke signal or something, get Allura’s attention.”

The words don’t have the effect that he was going for. Shiro’s expression quickly turns solemn, pain in exchange for amusement. Lance goes to sit at the older man’s side, and looks up at him with concern.

“Hey, you alright?”

One of the most frustrating things about Shiro, Lance thinks, is that he won’t open up to people. He doesn’t allow himself to take a moment and tell his loved ones what’s going on. So when Lance asks this question, the response he gets isn’t out of the ordinary.

“Yeah, just fine.”

.

Fuck that. Lance already knows that he wasn’t going to get anything out of Shiro, he had tried before and it never bared results. Over time he learned other ways to cheer the man up. Lance gets up on his feet, and with a quick “I’ll be right back,” he heads towards the lion.

A few minutes later and he’s returned, headphones in one hand and ipod in the other, smiling as if he’s holding the secrets to the universe. He runs to sit at Shiro’s side, shoving him a little with his his shoulder, urging him to put the headphones on.

“You know what you need?” He accosts, “a little bit of angsty music in your life. It’s good for the soul.”

Shiro pauses to question him, but then he realizes what his friend is trying to do. He softens, and puts the bulky headset over his ears. Silence, and then sound.

“...”

Lance is grinning like an idiot.

“... Is this… Lemonade?”

“Um, _yes,_ ” the boy states with obvious pride, “nothing better to get your angsty juices flowing like a little Bey.”

“I thought I knew you better than this. Actually, you know what? I’m not at all surprised.”

“Beyonce is a fucking icon and you’re wrong.”

And for the first time since they got there, Shiro laughs. And it unwinds Lance, sends a flutter to his gut and a blush to his face. Gorgeous bastard.

“Alright, smartass, what kind of music do _you_ like then? What could possibly be so above me that you scoff at _Bey?_ ”

When he stops laughing, Shiro confidently takes a breath. “ _I,_ ” he states, “am a true 90’s kid. Weezer, Bowie, the music of my generation.”

“Okay, first, Bowie is _not_ the 90’s. Also, if you ever call yourself that again I will vomit on you right then and there.”

Shiro laughs again.

 --

 

It’s completely dark when the fire begins to go dim. Shiro and Lance talk for hours, about anything and everything, giggling quietly as they distract each other from their uncertainty. And surprisingly enough, it’s really nice. Comforting.

Since they met, Shiro had admired Lance in a strange way. The teen could be annoying, sure, but he was always there when you needed him. He oozed charisma with every breath he took, smiled at you even when you were feeling down, and didn’t judge you no matter who you were or what you needed. Lance had a way of pulling Shiro out of his slumps in an instant, changing the subject so that he could find space to breathe before thinking about his problems with more clarity.

Lance is, Shiro thinks, probably the best person he could have gotten stuck with.

The two sit beside each other in the fading light. Lance rests his head against Shiro’s shoulder as he watches the movement of the fire. The warmth flickers across his face, creating a sparkling, saturated glow on olive skin. Lance, unlike Shiro, has delicate features. Smiling eyes and a face speckled with dots in various shades of brown, soft lips and long, dark eyelashes. He’s beautiful, really. Especially in this light. Especially nestled into him like this, looking vulnerable, deep in thought.

Shiro doesn’t realize he’s staring until Lance speaks up.

“I hope they’re okay.”

And suddenly, there’s a rush of shame.

“Yeah,” he tries, “me too.”


	2. Outward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setup setup SETUP.

Lance wakes up to a lanky lil’ guy in his face.

Half asleep, and convinced this is very possibly a weird dream, he stares up at him for a good long time before doing anything. That is, until the dude speaks.

“‘Allo!”

And _shit._ Not the wake-up he was hoping for. Lance scrambles backward in an awkward rush, trying to put as much distance between him and _that_ as possible. Which is of course, a bad idea. He hits his head against Black’s metal grating with a heavy bang, one that echoes inside his skull and leaves him feeling dizzy. Shiro wakes up to this, and foggily looks over to him.

“Lance, are you okay?”

And uh. Lance gracefully and articulately explains what’s going on.

“Th- th- th- tha- tha- tha- _that!_ ”

He accusatory points at the creature in front of him.

As soon as Shiro notices their company, he’s on alert. No longer the fuzzy, sleepy mess from before, he hops up into a crouch. His right hand glows, and his eyes squint into a suspicious and unwelcoming line. And Lance, well, he just kind of sits there waiting for his pulse to slow down.

“Wait wait wait!” The character in question brings his hands up and waves them about frantically. “I din’t mean ya no ‘arm. I saw yer ship crash an’ came down to check it out. See if you’er alright.”

And quite the character he is. Small and gangly, with oddly angled limbs that leave him looking unsettlingly disproportional. A thick accent and what appears to be more than a few mechanical parts.

 _A cyborg,_ Lance thinks, _somehow I imagined them to look a little more… cool._

This guy looks more like the candle from beauty and the beast, except less, um, _Italian._ And he just sort of stands there, a hopeful smile and a submissive stance. Lance looks over to Shiro, who is clearly still on the defensive, but seems to have calmed down a bit.

“Hey, hey big guy. N’need to get to get all agro. I don’t put up much ‘f a fight.” He hesitantly outstretches his mechanical hand. “ ‘Name’s Ter. Pleasure.”

Shiro eyes his hand, doesn’t shake it.

“We crashed here last night and we’re lost. Do you know anything about where we are in the galaxy? We need to get in touch with a friend.”

“Well, I thought maybe I could fix up yer ship here so I gave’er the ol’ once over. She in’t lookin’ too good though, past my capes. Oypra ain’t far from ‘ere, y’know, y’might find someone there who can fix are up all nice n’ pretty. I could give ya a ride.”

Shiro and Lance had interrogated enemies before. As defenders of the universe, it was in the job description. And Lance would never tell Shiro this, but when they do, it looks like something straight out of a bad police drama. Good cop, bad cop, if you will. And he loves it more than he probably should. Being the good cop, that is.

“Shiro, he’s been here a while. If he was going to attack us, he probably would of done it in our sleep. I think you can put your weapon down.”

It works. Shiro relaxes a little and they both stand up. Lance speaks up again.

“Oypra, did you say? I assume that’s a planet, right? How far did you say it was?”

“Oh, not barely nothin’. Just a few shifts out.”

_Shifts. Ticks. Why can’t everyone in the universe just use the same working time system?_

“My ship ain’t big, but it’ll hold 3. Even though yer friend ‘ere is pretty large. An’ scary.”

Lance pauses. Hesitates. And then,

“Yeah, okay, thanks man.” Shiro turns to him in an instant, gives him a look that’s more than just questioning. He holds his ground. “We could really use the ride.”

“Lance, can I talk to you for a moment?” Ter lets out a little cough that badly feigns a snicker. Shiro grabs his arm and gently urges him off to the side. They walk until they are just out of ear’s length. Lance tries to find the words to describe his expression. Not exactly pleased.

“What were you thinking? We have no idea who this guy is or if we can trust him.” Exasperated, that’s the word.

“Look, Shiro, I never said I trusted him. But he might be our only bet. Who knows why Allura cut out, or how long it’ll take for her to find us. At least this way we’ll be somewhere where food and shelter is readily available. We might even be able to help search for some of the other paladins.”

Shiro scowls. “He might be _Galra._ ”

They both take a moment to look at him then, and Ter takes notice. “Hey I gotit if you to lovebirds need some time to think it over. But I’ll ‘ave ya know, this planet ‘aint inhabited. Y’might not see anyone fer a while.”

“No, we’re not-” Lance begins. He stops himself before he makes it worse.

Shiro doesn’t seem to take notice, appearing more pensive than embarrassed. After a few ticks of deep thought, he looks back at Lance. “Alright, fine. Is there anything you need to get out of your lion before we head out?”

\--

 

They’re hiking back to the site of Lance’s crash when Shiro poses the question.

“So, if you landed in a lake, how exactly _did_ you get your ipod and headphones out?”

Lance wipes the sweat off his collar, then pretends to straighten a tie for dramatic effect. “Well,” he begins, “I figured if my helmet and suit were air tight enough to keep my limbs from being ripped apart in space, they would probably do just fine keeping water out of my technology. Not exactly a ziplock bag, but it did the trick.”

“Wow,” Shiro huffs, “not bad cadet. That’s actually pretty smart.”

Lance smiles. “Some call me a genius.”

“Now, I wouldn’t go that far.”

\--

 

He knew that nothing would happen, but Lance is relieved to see Blue where he left her nonetheless. Butt in the air, head in the water, it looks a little ridiculous, actually. For a moment he wonders if she can breathe. Don’t say that out loud, Lance.

“I wonder if she can breathe like that.” Dammit.

But surely enough, it isn’t him who says it. Shiro stands there next to him, eyeing her, a contemplative expression on his face. He looks like it’s an actual serious question. Lance snorts.

“Don’t be dumb, Shiro.”

And the man _blushes._ Bless his poor soul.

Lance could nail it in, but he decides to let the guy off easy. “Let’s get started then, shall we?” He gives a quick gesture with his head before sliding on worn down shoes to the edge of the water. He takes them off, then his coat, and dives in. The water feels great, cold. He dunks his head under, and it’s a poor excuse for a wash but it gets some grease off nonetheless. After a moment, he comes back up, fingers rubbing at his eyes.

“You coming?” he shouts to his companion.

But Shiro’s just standing there, seemingly spaced out and completely unresponsive. He’s looking straight at Lance, but his head seems to be in a completely different place. There’s a soft scowl on his face.

“Helloooo? Earth to Shiro? Anyone in there?”

Lance notices a drop of water, annoyingly falling from his hairline to his neck. He wipes it off. Shiro’s nostrils flare, just the slightest bit. He snaps out of it.

“Sorry. Coming.”

\--

 

It’s darker in Lance’s lion than he remembers, and even more damp. He climbs up and over the back of his control chair, now half drowned, and reaches to give Shiro a hand. It takes a while to let their eyes adjust to the light, and it’s obvious when Shiro can start to see around them.

“Wow,” he whispers. It echoes off the walls.

“See, what did I tell you?”

The two climb further. Up through jumbled wires and small passageways, into the compressed storage unit that lies at the pit of Blue’s stomach.

Now, Lance is a prepared guy. He isn’t one to just go full flight into battle without thinking about what could happen, where he could end up. To amend that, he had packed some necessities just in case something like this occurred. Unfortunately, that list of necessities didn’t include pants. He’s not sure why it hadn’t crossed his mind, seeing as literally every time he suits up he takes them off, but yet. He suffers the consequences.

Meanwhile, Shiro is looking through the rest of his things. Flashlight, backpack, razor-

“Lance, why did you pack face cream?”

“Hey, a man has his needs.”

They gather up his things and seal them off inside their helmets, preparing for the swim. It doesn’t take too long before everything has made it to the shore.

Lance pulls himself out of the water, peels off his tank, and gives it a good shake. He rings it out as tightly as he can, and slips it back on.

Shiro moves to do the same, and well.

\--

 

No, but you don’t _understand._

\--

 

_“That guy’s my hero.”_

\--

 

Lance has been refraining from using the word idol, for a number of reasons, but mostly because it’s something he’s trying to let go of.  Idols are weird. You experience their lives through a screen, stalk their facebook and twitter, learn their injokes and habits and quirks. It’s like having a best friend, but not really.

You want them. Their acknowledgement. Their love.

It’s maddening and delightful, but it’s also something that you learn to live with. They stay in your heart as this figure, this _icon,_ representing your goals and curiosities and desires. And hopefully one day, when you’ve reached all those things, you can let it go. Become someone else’s idol.

But maybe you’re not there yet, not ready, still clinging to your idol like a prepubescent girl.

But time doesn’t hold still. You meet them, they become a part of your family. Your team.

It doesn’t make the awe just disappear.

He had always been a space kid, Lance. Glow in the dark planets plastered to his ceiling, countless dioramas of the solar system built for science fairs. He loved the stuff, knew from the moment he set eyes on the stars that _he_ would be the one to explore them.

Lance was only 10 years old when he first saw Shiro on TV. The Garrison, the military’s first space-exploration program, had just lowered their minimum age requirement to a measly 15. The boy on the screen was the first to be accepted. The idea that someone just a few years his elder could become a part of something so big, well, that blew Lance’s mind. It made him giddy with excitement. It made something that seemed so far off feel like it was just around the corner.

He was determined, and ravenous. Lance was not the kid to get good grades without trying, so he made up for that by spending all his time studying. He would read countless books on astronomy, learning each detail of everything past the sky. It was love.

But something else, something accidental, developed alongside this love. And that was Shiro. From the moment he saw him on that clunky TV in his mom’s living room, the two became inseparable: outer space, and Takashi Shirogane. Shiro, and the stars. And it was because he just felt so achievable, like someone that Lance could actually _become_ if he tried hard enough.

And then Lance went through puberty. And childhood admiration turned into something much deeper.

Lance knew he liked men before he knew he liked women. In fact, he used girls as a cover up so that no one would know what he really was, or what he believed he was at the time, _gay._ And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why he thought this. By then, the teen he once admired had turned into a young man, and that young man was very, _very_ attractive. Lance owned all two posters that had been made of his idol, one hung just above his desk, and the other beside his bed. Let’s just be clear here, the hotter one was beside his bed.

It wasn’t until the Garrison that Lance figured out this whole girl thing might actually have some merit to it.

He skyped home and came out to his family, for the second time.

And it was okay, because he was coming into his sexuality. And not only that, he was starting the path to his dreams. He could take a breather from his 5 year idol, off on the Kerberos mission and soon to come back with another great discovery. Meanwhile, Lance had made it. He _was_ the person he had always longed to be. It was the best time in his life.

And then he lost him.

And then he _found_ him.

\--

 

Shiro is self conscious about his scars. He doesn’t like people seeing them, reacting to something that he is very actively trying to forget. Sure, he has gotten more comfortable about it over the past few months - it’s hard _not_ to when you live in close quarters with four other guys - but they’re still something he doesn’t like to show to others. Long sleeves. Gloves. A turtleneck.

He hadn’t expected this simple action to open him up to vulnerability. For the first time, he barely even thinks about it. Just drying off a sopping shirt, no big deal.

But at soon as he takes the thing off, Lance is staring. And Shiro is aware of his tattered body all over again.

“Um, Lance?”

The kid looks nervous. Ears and neck red from the heat, jittery fingers tapping at his sides. Hell, he’s even at a loss for words. Lance just looks at him, his torso and arms, damaged. Undesirable.

Figures.

“...”

“OH UM SORRY. SPACED OUT THERE FOR A MOMENT.” Stiff. Too obvious. As soon as he’s aware of himself again, the red that was resting in Lance’s neck goes straight to his cheeks. He rubs the back of his head. “WELL LET’S GET BACK THEN SHALL WE?”

“Yeah,” Shiro says.

Lance grabs his newly stuffed backpack and turns on his heal, very ready to get out of the situation.  

“Sorry,” Shiro says.

Lance doesn’t hear him.

\--

 

On the hike back, the silence that was once comfortable is awkward. And _Lance_ knows why. Because he’s an idiot and Shiro caught him staring like a drooling puppy. Not exactly his most couth of moments.

And _Shiro_ knows why. Because he’s an idiot and bared his scars to someone not ready to see them, showed an ugly side of himself to an unsuspecting onlooker. Lance must be worried about him now, he should have just left the damn thing on. Gloves. Turtleneck.

Lance wants to say something, but he isn’t really sure what. He opens his mouth to speak several times, but closes it again in fear of saying something stupid. Like _“Hey, sorry dude, it’s just that I’ve had an unrequited crush on you for the past 8 years and think you’re hot as balls.”_ Lance has _some_ sense of emotional self preservation.

The clearing is up ahead.

Ter is right where they left him, looking around the lion, admiring her. He catches notice of them pretty quickly.

“Oh, welcome back, gents! Just takin’ a look around. S’shame, I woulda loved to peek inside this here beauty.”

“We’re all packed up. We should probably get going.” Shiro walks past Lance, then Ter, noticeably fast. The sooner they can find someone who can help them with their lions, the better.

“What’s up ‘is arse?”

But they both follow him.

Ter’s ship is like a bigger version of the man himself. Beat up, wires sticking out of places they shouldn’t be and brass bars folding into each other. Lance is pretty sure he sees a couple of zip-ties here and there, which is unsettling to say the least.

Ter wasn’t kidding when he said it was a little small. It’s proportional to a tiny body like his own, but not exactly ideal sized for someone of reasonable height, like Lance. Or someone of _unreasonable_ height, like Shiro. It’s a little smaller that the minicooper his dad let his sister borrow when she was learning to drive.

And since we’re already going with car references here, let’s talk about the situation that every small child has faced. Five kids, one back seat. Five kids, one unreasonable mother who doesn’t want to drive back and forth. Piled on top of each other with no room to breath for the 10 minutes it takes to drive the few blocks to their elementary school. And Lance didn’t really think that the situation could be achieved with only two people, but apparently if one of those two is a _bodybuilder,_ you can get the same desired effect.

Now, Lance is a toucher. When you grow up one of five, as stated above, your personal bubble becomes very, very small. The kid needs physical affection, which is what had drawn him to Hunk in the first place. Military school isn’t exactly the most hug-centric place. Meanwhile, Hunk had open arms.

Pidge is not a hugger. Allura is not a hugger, Lance had found that out the hard way. Coran is willing, but it’s kinda weird. Lance wouldn’t hug Keith even if you paid him. Hunk’s great, but a limited resource, set as the designated cuddle friend for when any of these distinct non-huggers were actually feeling pretty lonely. Which was a lot more since they were separated from their whole world.

Which left him with Shiro.  

He wasn’t exactly a touchy person, by any means, but he wasn’t opposed to it, and that was what mattered. Shiro wasn’t the kind of person to give you a big bear hug that left you unable to breathe. More subtle. He’d come up and give Lance a pat on the shoulder, or scruff his hair up a bit, or give his arm a quick squeeze. And Lance had let himself fall into that routine, casual touching. Heads on shoulders, nudges to the side, loving punches.

Legs draped over legs in the back of a tightly packed airship held together with Elmer’s glue.

“You two al ‘ready?” Ter asks from the front seat. The suspiciously roomy front seat.

Without leaving time for a response, he begins to take off.

Engines rumble, Lance can smell the scent of burning fuel, and then.

_Wow._

It’s a fast little thing. Lance was a cargo pilot for many of his early flight training. When he achieved the status of fighter jet, most of the people around him had already been training that position for years. Sure, he had used the simulator, but it wasn’t exactly the same. Neither was piloting Blue, as fantastic as that was. The bulk of her really muted the feeling of speed, if not the speed itself.

But this thing, it’s a whole different concept altogether. As they hurtle towards the atmosphere, Lance isn’t sure if he’s completely horrified or having the time of his life. You can really feel every bump and jiggle from Ter’s tiny little ship, hear every outside sound. It actually feels like soaring, like using physics and magic to disobey gravity. And it’s exhilarating.

By the way Shiro is practically digging his nails into Lance’s leg, he probably isn’t leaning towards “the time of his life.” His face is a solid blank, staring straight at the driver. Well, maybe not a solid blank. Maybe like a “are you trying to get us all killed” blank.

The rush of the moment and the feeling of his stomach turning last all of a few minutes, before they make it into 0 space. Lance hits his head against the seat in front of him. _Momentum._ Interesting. Despite it’s rinky-dink appearance, the little jet has artificial gravity. Oh, and also, it hurts. Could have used a little warning.

Lance takes a moment to catch his breath, to unwind from the experience of leaving a planet in something other than a giant lion-ship or an even gianter castle-ship. He looks over to Shiro, who is still actively clutching his leg. He watches as his face twitches, his breathing slows. And then, Lance giggles.

“That. Was awesome.” Shiro’s head snaps over in an instant.

“You enjoyed that?”

“Hell yeah I did! _That’s_ what flying should feel like.”

“That is exactly what flying should _not_ feel like. That is why we developed technology with the specific purpose of making flying _not_ feel like that.”

Ter speaks up from the front seat. “Glad to hear y’all enjoyed the ride. Should be smooth sailin’ from ‘ere on out. That is, ‘till we have to land on Oypra.”

Shiro gulps.

And Lance is giggling again. And here comes that loving punch. “Watch it, pal, I bet if I pushed hard enough I could send you right through the cardboard walls of this ship.”

Ter again. “Hey you. Don’t you go insulting my pretty little _Lida!_ ”

“Lida?” Lance snorts. He can’t help it.

“Sure thing,” Ter says, “named her m’self. After an’ old friend, actually. Good lady, she was. Till she acted like a no ‘nothin under military rule and got ‘erself killed.”

Oh.

Silence. Brief.

“Of course,” Shiro mutters beside beside him. And then a louder, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Yeah well. She made ‘er choices and suffered the consequences.” He lifts a scrawny finger. “One does not simply disobey Galra soldiers. _‘Specially_ if you ain’t Galra yerself. They ain’t the best at dealin’ with outsiders.”

Lance watches as a deep scowl forms on his companion’s face.

He can’t help himself. The boy looks to the side, and-

“You know about Voltron though, right? People are fighting back, maybe it won’t be like this forever.”

Ter sighs. “Nah, I don’t b’leive that bull. It in’t just some little micro-empire he’s got goin’ on, Zarkon’s been around for 10,000 years. He’s seen th’ birth ‘n death of whole planets.”

The air goes still. Everything goes quiet. Lance can barely hear the sound of Ter’s rusty breathing, let alone his own. Then,

“Yeah,” Shiro says, “I suppose you have a point.”

.

_Oh._

Because Ter _does_ have a point. Hunk had mentioned it before, this Zarkon guy has been ruling for thousands of years.

_Who knows how long it’ll take us to defeat him._

_If we live._

They ride in silence for another few minutes. It feels like just too long, when a little noise begins to ping and a light on Ter’s control screen starts blinking.

“Out ‘a fuel.”

Huh. The lions never seem to run out of fuel. The castle is run by a crystal from the surface of the Balmera’s skin. Lance wonders if there’s another crystal, deep in the heart of Blue, that keeps her going.

He wonders if that’s why she’s damaged. Won’t speak to him. He wonders if that’s all she needs, a new heart to bring her back to life. Lance doesn’t bring this up, thinks mentioning Voltron is enough in the context. Shiro and him never agreed to trust Ter, as trustworthy as he’s beginning to feel. As human.

Again, without waiting for response, Ter shifts a control in front of him and the little ship veers off in a new direction. Lance’s body feels a little heavier.

It starts off with just a few little asteroids, light tapping noises from the outside. Then passing lights glare in through the monitor, glowing red against the back seat. He sees Shiro squint. And then, without warning, the slight heaviness in Lance’s body comes on tenfold, like something’s physically pushing him into his chair, like his neck and shoulders aren’t made to support his head.

“Sorry ‘bout that. It’s th’ gravity. It’s responding with the stuff from the fuel center. Just gimme one second to turn it off aaaaand-”

He presses one of many mismatching buttons, and everything’s normal again.

It feels like they’re on an upward moving ramp. It lasts for a brief period, and then stops with a rattling jolt. There’s a hiss from the change in pressure as the doors open. Lance’s ears pop.

It’s only been a little while since they started their ride, but it feels like it’s been ages. When Lance steps out into the station, he can actively feel as each one of his vertebrae re-aligns. He stretches his arms above his head and makes a noise that sounds like a hybrid between a groan and a yaughn. Shiro does the same.

The station is a cold, metallic silver, with several conveyer belts moving ships in and out. Off to the side, there’s a small window with a tired looking employee sipping at some drink. Beside her is a door that leads into another area.

A thought occurs to him. _This is just like  gas station. That’s a little shop. Junk food, sweet lord, there might be junk food._

With a quick “I’m gonna go check it out,” he’s walking rather briskly toward the little shop and its tired looking employee. He goes in, and it’s like a little piece of heaven. There may be lot of differences between earth and the rest of the galaxy, but this stays the same. Aisles of useless tools and bizarre snacks in strange packaging, and musac, _space musac,_ that plays through low-quality speakers in the background. It’s not exactly home, but for some reason it has that same curious charm. He’s _pumped._

The employee gives his giddy face a weird look, but then goes back to what she’s doing. Lance is making a beeline for the snack aisle, soaking in the sweet, oily smell that comes from it, when he hears something.

“I know right? And then they just vanished. I’ve never seen something like that happen before.”

“This keeps happening. Zarkon gets his hands on a lion, or two at best, and then they escape from his grasp.”

“I dunno, man, all I can tell you is that it was crazy.”

Two Galra soldiers walk in the door, armor on full but helmets at their sides, and head over to a stand of drinks. Lance ducks behind a rather large bag of chips.  

“And now we’re back to square one, huh? Why are we in such desperate need to get our hands on this Voltron thing anyways? It’s not like they’ve done much damage other than disrupting a power plant.”

“I’m not sure myself. But orders are orders. Zarkon didn’t become the most powerful man in the universe by making flaky plans.”

Orders are orders. So Zarkon’s already on the hunt, even to the point where basic grunts are aware of the situation? Not good. How many days had he been knocked out?

“What I’d give for that, am I right? Imagine all that money, all those women.”

“Whatever, some of us aren’t as single as yourself, friend. I’m pretty content with my lovely lady and our little shit of a toddler. She’s learned to climb, Garret, _climb._ ”

“You big geezer.”

Lance quickly makes his way through the snack aisle, the bathrooms, and around the back of the store. He slips through the front door without being seen. It isn’t so much running as it is tripping over his own feet on the way back to Shiro and Ter. The two are leaning against a metal pillar, smoking something that looks vaguely like a cigarette.

“We need to go. Asap.” It’s the loudest whisper you’ve ever heard.

“Why? What’s wrong?” Shiro asks. Lance shoots him a pleading look, glances over at Ter with the strongest _I’m not just gonna say it out loud_ implication he can manage.

“There are some people here we _really_ don’t want to run into. You’re all fueled up, right? Let’s _go._ ”

Ter nods his head, and starts back toward the driver's seat. “Alright, I getit. I ain’t gonna ask questions. Come’on boys.”

They pile on top of each other once again, and it’s back into space.

\--

 

Shiro watches as Lance disappears inside the doors of the station’s supposed mini-mart. He leans against the metal podium pouring fuel into Ter’s ship. Wiping the the sweat off his hairline, the man sighs.

“Care fer’a smoke?” Ter walks up and leans beside him.

“No, thanks. I don’t do that anymore.”

“Sure. Just like y’don’t have a robot arm anymore.” He pulls two thin rolls out of a ripping paper box. Hands one to Shiro. Against his better judgement, he takes it. Next, Ter pulls out a lighter, touches it up to his mouth, then hands that to Shiro too.

“Y’know,” he begins, “I been ‘round the block a few times. I knew that wasn’t no basic arm y’got there from the moment y’made it glow. That beauty’s somethin’ y’only get if yer in friendly with th’ druids.”

.

Shiro swallows. “I’m not. The arm is…” he tries to think of the words. “... Temporary.”

“Yeah, that’s what I figered. Yer friend din’t seem too patriotic towards the Galra either, mentioning Voltron an’ all that.” Shiro looks down at the scrawny figure beside him. Their eyes make contact.

“Hey, don’t look so cold. I ain’t a snich ‘r anythin’. Just sayin’ you two stick out like a sore thumb. Might wanna be a little less conspicuous if ya keep hitchin’ rides from strangers.”

The contact breaks. Shiro takes a large puff from his cigarette, letting the familiar burn run down his throat.

“Thanks for the advice.”

\--

 

It doesn’t take long to reach Oypra. A few hours, at most. Lance can’t stop thinking about the soldiers at the station. Of _course_ there’d be Galra just walking about, casually making conversation. He thinks about 10,000 years, how far the reign must spread.

The man had talked about his wife and child.

Which makes sense. Lance had figured that the entire race wasn’t just soldiers and drones, taking over planets to become military bases. He had learned enough in school to know that’s not how an empire works. When fighting, Lance tried not to think too hard about it.

All those wives. Those children.

They land on the planet with little more ease than their takeoff before. It’s bumpy, and feels like falling, but they hit the ground with little more damage than rapid-fire heartbeats. They move to exit the vehicle, and when Lance steps out and looks around, his fears are confirmed.

Purple.

_Galra._


	3. Faltering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My working title for this on google docs is "give shance a chance."

Crap. Not good. So very not good. 

You know what the worst thing you can probably do when you're being chased down by an entire army of cyber-enhanced soldiers is? Walk, or fly in this case, straight into the middle of one of their claimed planets. It's really not the smartest move. 

Around them is that familiar Galra glow, the pulsing purple that Lance recognizes from each ship, each piece of armor.

Ter landed in what looks like a run down parking lot in the city. Cracks along the pavement, tall buildings, and the sound of traffic just off in the distance. It's night time, the sky overcast with a glaring, polluted orange you can only get from the sweet combination of street lights and smog. Though less humid than where they were before, it's incredibly foggy, making it hard to see outside a certain radius. 

Thank god for that. Lance puts on his hood. 

"Shiro, this is bad." The mutter is just barely heard over sounds of muffled nightlife. 

They aren’t alone. Around them is the sweet, dark plum colored skin, the furry ears and large build. Passengers step off aircrafts, grab bags, yawn and walk and talk as they meander to where they're going. And it's surreal. Lance had never pictured what a Galra would look like out of armor, never imagined it to look this. This  _ human.  _

Ter steps out of the ship and makes his way around to Shiro and Lance, who are standing close to keep from being spotted. 

"You two a'right?" He asks, mildly confused. 

Shiro responds with a question. "Is this whole planet Galra? Won't we stick out?" It's the subtlest way, Lance thinks, that he could have phrased  _ we need to get the fuck out of here. _

"Course it's Galra. I can think 'f about two planets that aren't. And that's only cause they ain't advanced 'nough fer anyone to bother. No need to worry though, y'all are gonna fit right in. This part'a town's like 80 percent refugees, ain’t nobody gonna care fer two more."

Upon second notice, Ter is right. Yes, there are Galra, but there aren't  _ only _ Galra. Around them are aliens of all shapes and sizes, humanoid and otherwise. They mingle among their more purple of company, and no one looks twice. Lance wants to think that means they'll have an easy time blending in, wants to believe that he won't see a wanted poster with his face on it at the first right turn. He doesn't get his hopes up. 

They had gotten as far as getting off the uninhabited planet, making sure they were in a place with resources for survival. But that was the ending point of their foresight. And now that they’re here, Lance thinks he would much rather spend nights sleeping in the middle of a jungle than in some dark alleyway, or worse, in prison. It's easy to forget when you've been put up for so long that a safe, comfortable bed isn't always readily available. He turns to Ter. 

"And where would said refugees find a place to stay the night?" 

"Not too hard, but might take y'awhile. Don't expect to get much beauty rest. If ya start goin' down streets, well lit ones might I recommend, you'll see 'em. Billboards, posters, easy ways to make quick cash, no questions asked. Shouldn't be too difficult to find a room with a lil' money in yer pocket, but it's one step at'a time."

\--

  
  


It's like being stranded when Ter finally leaves. Like riding public transport alone as a kid for the first time, unsure of the destination. They watch as his dingy little aircraft rises into the air, shaky. Its engines purr, its lights go on, and zoom. Off into the distance. 

Shiro and Lance are left standing in the dark. 

"Well," Lance poses, "What now." 

It's not easy to think in situations like this. No plan, no idea where they are, no idea where they will be in the next few hours. Ter basically gave them advice to wander around aimlessly until they find something.  _ If _ they find something. 

After a few moments of silent contemplation, Shiro nudges Lance's shoulder and gives him a shallow nod. They start off in the direction of a few small buildings, forming what looks to be a main street. Brightly lit.Wouldn't want to be robbed and murdered on day one, Lance already lost his pants and he's really not willing to give up much else. 

For the intense industrial feel of the Galra military, their cities are surprisingly provincial. Spiraled stone buildings rise up towards the sky, some connecting into each other, others leaving room for thin, winding alleyways going nowhere. The main street is surprisingly busy, filled with aliens from every end of the galaxy going about their business. The larger portion of them are Galra, but none of them seem to notice or care about Lance and Shiro’s presence. And Ter was right about the posters. Every couple of feet there’s a new one, inviting them to take their try at gambling, or ommatophore fetishism, or the tastiest Vrauk’pa on all the seven planets. Flickering street lights advertise businesses selling stuff that Lance has never heard of, and every once in awhile he smells something delicious wafting out of buildings with lines out the door. His stomach grumbles. If they’re going to find a job, they better do it soon.

It’s probably the 500th poster they’ve checked when Lance catches sight of something curious. On the wall is a neatly placed piece of paper, so recently hung there that it’s clean and undamaged, with a rather ominous question sprawled across the top in bold. 

_ “Dance Love?”  _

It’s not the oddly arranged wording that offsets him. But rather, the giant, red arrow that sits right below. And that’s it, nothing else to imply what it might be promoting. It’s like something straight out of Alice in Wonderland. 

Lance is not surprised in the slightest that the arrow in question is pointing into one of the very dark alleys that Ter had warned them not to go down. 

Now. Lance has common sense. He swears. He may not be a genius, but he isn’t stupid enough to let his curiosity override his actual physical safety. 

Is he?

He sees a brief flash of light from that direction, then hears it. Joyous giggling coming his way, ranting about how something was “the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.” 

And two very lovely alien ladies round the corner. 

Okay, maybe he’ll just  _ ask.  _ That way he can quash his interest, learn that whatever’s down there is dumb and boring and just not worth taking the risk. Convinced at this point that no one will spot them as targets of Zarkon, he takes off his hood. While Shiro is off looking at some posters a few feet away, Lance decides to bring out the ol’ one time charm.  He leans against the wall,  _ super _ casually. Then, fingerguns. 

“Hey, how’s it going.” 

“Not interested.” They keep walking. 

“Wait!” he shouts after them. They pause briefly, just enough time for-

“Sorry. I wasn’t actually hitting on you. Well I  _ was,  _ but. That wasn’t the point. I just want to know what was so amazing back there, the sign doesn’t tell me much.” He points at the wall behind him. 

Now, Lance isn’t attracted to  _ every  _ alien life form that comes his way. Sure, Allura is a fucking goddess and then there was that one (slightly kinky) mistake that he prefers not to talk about, but still. Even without attraction, he can appreciate beauty. And that's what they are, these ladies, a gorgeous light pink color with little tufts of fur, or maybe feathers, protruding where curved lines meet joints. 

They turn around, eyeing him. The one on the right lifts a sceptical eyebrow, but responds to his plea nonetheless. 

"Ever heard of Caajndra?" She already knows the answer, doesn't wait got him to say no. "Stuff of legends, a little piece of counterculture you'll find hard to forget. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Passion and danger. And if you're good enough, you can even make a living out of it.”

Her friend is just giddy, can barely contain her excitement. When she speaks, Lance recognizes her as the one he had heard before. "Just go. You won't regret it." 

And they're off, walking back out onto the main street with confident strides and linked arms. 

Shiro walks back over. "What was that about?" 

"There's this thing." Lance looks down, gathering courage, before meeting Shiro's eyes. "Now I know you're gonna say this is a really bad idea, but I think I have a lead on something. Just down there." 

He walks over so he can see the glowing sign at the end of the alley, pointing down a staircase that leads into some sort of basement. He's not surprised to see a glowing red arrow, and those two words: "Dance Love?"  

"I think we should check it out." 

.

"Lance?"

"Yeah?"

"That is a bad idea."

"Yeah, I know, it could be bad. But trust me, I've got a feeling about this. Plus, I get the notion that we won't find any kind of no-questions-asked work around here without going down any dark alleys." 

\--

 

It's a heavy looking door, the one at the bottom of the steps. Lance can tell it was built with a purpose, to keep sound in and prying eyes out. From behind it comes the faint wub of music, barely concealed despite obvious efforts. The girls, they had described watching something? From out here it sounds more like a nightclub. 

A breath in.

A breath out. 

They walk down and into the building below. 

And damn. Have you ever had a bomb explode in your face? Because Lance has. Well, not really, but this comes pretty close. The door swings open with surprising ease, and instantly they’re faced with an overwhelming burst of color. Mismatching light shows overlap and clash, making the whole room seem like the inside of a kaleidoscope. It causes Lance's pupils to ache as they rapidly shrink. And sound. It  really isn’t the subtle wub wub you might get from your average shitty nightclub. It’s eclectic, sounds unraveling into sounds, fluttering beats and a deep bass that Lance can feel at the pit of his stomach. 

Crowds gather together on inclined ground which gradually slumps toward the center of the room. It’s not very big, the space, but people fit in like sardines, hooting and hollering in preparation for the show to come. 

The show. Lance isn’t really sure what it’s going to be, his sensors are sending mixed messages. Music, flashing lights, Dance Love, and yet. In the center isn’t a stage, if Lance could describe it as anything, it would be a boxing ring. And the audience, they don’t look like they’re getting ready to watch some dance performance. No. He sees obnoxious screaming, betting, punching, knocking pitchers about that are probably filled with something very similar to beer. It increases his curiosity tenfold. 

The lights go dim, and the atmosphere changes. The once rowdy hall becomes silent, air so thick he can practically wade in it.. The music drops to a low bass. Reverberates. Leaves his body vibrating as anticipation grows all around him. 

An announcer climbs up to the rink, voracious enthusiasm clear on his face, and the crowd goes back into a cheer. But when he moves to speak, they listen.

“Alright you hungry swarm, listen to me.  _ Tonight _ will be a treat. Especially you regulars, the lot of you, get ready for an old time favorite vs. a rising star! Please welcome to the stage-”

-Cheers, roaring-

“LANELLINE”

-Louder-

“AND”

-Piercing, deafening-

“THE SPHINX!”

The music is turned back up, drowning out the sound of enthusiastic screams. The scattered lights find focus in the center of the room, where two figures move to stand on opposite sides of the ring. One is the Sphinx, Lance assumes, because of its thick coat of satin smooth fur, paired with features of a large cat. The other is more alien than anything Lance has seen before, rough outer edges that stretch and fold into the contours of its body. They wait a good long time before moving. The Sphinx takes a step forward first, strong, regal. Instead of getting in fighting stance, Lanelline takes the opportunity to respond in it’s own way, whole upper body shifting back to reform the negative space. It draws a wide circle with its chest, once, twice, then pivots on the ball of its foot as one arm goes out, gracefully seizing its ringmate around the back. And the Sphinx, it responds in turn, flowing with the movement, keening against it. 

Before he knows it, the two have fallen into this dance, shifting and rolling against each other, using each other’s momentum to to propel themselves into something new and creative. 

But that’s just the beginning. As soon as the energy begins to build, their movements speed up. And by god, it becomes a partner dance to end all partner dances. It’s like they’re best friends, lovers, partners in crime, moving in and out of each other's spaces like they’ve been doing it their whole lives. The Sphinx lifts Lanelline into the air, spins the body several times, and takes it into deep dip. 

And that’s when punches start getting thrown. The once collaborative motion becomes one of violence, blood and sweat forming so quickly that it’s hard to follow who caused what. Bodies fall into each other, kicks, ducks, attacks at every turn. The crowd goes wild.

And then it’s dance, again. Pull away and push towards, magic underneath fingertips. 

Lance figures out the trick. Caajndra, as the ladies had called it, is a game of listening. The two in front of him are not just routinely switching between strikes and spins, no, they’re watching each other’s body language, reading it, to anticipate what the other’s next move will be. It’s a game of psyching your opponent out, moving in for a spin but turning it into an attack, using their momentum against them. And Lance  _ adores  _ it. 

\--

 

Lance is a lover, not a fighter. It wasn't until the Garrison that he even began training for combat, and even then it wasn’t much more than how to wield a gun. If he could avoid it, he did, only hoping to become a fighter pilot for the thrill of soaring through the stars. But when he took on the title of paladin, fighting became a skill he urgently needed to survive. Allura and Coran didn’t much teach him more than they did put him against opponents and hope for the best. The technique was never there, but the spirit was. The adrenaline. It was like being handed a string of thread and being told to make cloth. His was tattered, and loopy, but he made do. 

But Dance, now, that’s a different story. The boy was tapping his feet before he even learned to walk. Music was his go-to drug of choice, and shakin’ what his mama gave him was how he found home. When he got older, he discovered it wasn’t something he had to do alone in his room; phone in pocket, earbuds in ears, lips synced as he pointed at himself in the mirror. Hell, he discovered it was something he didn’t have to do alone  _ at all.  _

Salsa and Blues, Zouk and West Coast Swing. He was hooked by the end of the first night out. Lance got swept off his feet, spun so many times he couldn’t walk straight, and hit with smiles so bright he couldn’t help but mirror them for days. It became an addiction, causing an exhilaration that spread through his body and kept him coming back, eager to dance with anyone and everyone. And he was good at it, too, quickly picked up the language of subtle movement, direction, push and pull and flare.

\--

 

Which is why he’s looking around so desperately for the sign up board. He sees a person standing in the far corner of the room, barely visible, at a stand-up desk covered in paper and pens. Best bet. He starts to rush in that direction, when a stiff hand is on his arm. He looks over to where it came from, and sees Shiro, and intense look in his eye.

“Where are you going?” Lance is pretty sure he shouts, but can’t hear him nonetheless. Instead, he reads his lips.

“I can do this,” he shouts back, knowing that, too, won’t do any good. Shiro looks puzzled, but more than that. He looks hopeful, maybe? Pleading? Unsure. 

But it doesn’t stop Lance, his thrill, his understanding of the bets that are going on all around him and how he can use his own skill to their advantage. Quick cash. No questions asked. He leans into Shiro’s shoulder, mouth close to ear, and yells again. 

“This is something I’m  _ good  _ at Shiro. I can win this. It’ll be money, trust me. This will work.” 

He doesn’t notice Shiro shrink, try to protest, because he’s already taking off for the sign-up sheet. 

Lance is adaptable, to stay the least. When the fear wore off that someone might capture Shiro and him and deliver them to Zarkon on a silver platter, he got used to this whole Galra thing real fast. Sure, she’s a good three feet taller than him, but he’s already flirting with her, asking for information on how to get in on that action in the rink. 

“So, just how much does a handsome lad such as myself take home if he wins one of these little contests?” It’s a good bit quieter in this corner, behind the speakers, so Lance can hear her laugh. At him. 

“ _ If  _ you win,” she says, “it’s really not too much. Gotta be one of the big shots if you want to make anything like a living.”

“Oh I’ll win. Is it enough to book a room?” He winks. 

“Confident, are we?” She’s smiling into it now, flirting. “You’ve got a pretty face, but we’ll see if you have the skill to match.” She grabs a pen. “Now what will I be writing down here?”

“The name’s Lance.” 

She scribbles, then gestures for him to follow. 

They enter a back room, filled with folks putting on costumes, putting in mouthguards. It’s a whole different world from the the loud basement warehouse they just left. It’s relaxed, messy, shelves and lockers along walls, clothes scattered all about. It smells like sweat, and something else distinctly alien. The woman in front of him stops when she reaches the far wall, and turns around. 

“I’m Naya, by the way.” She eyes him up and down. “Are those all the clothes you’ve got?”

Lance is suddenly very aware of the fact that he’s still in his boxers. Hairy, lanky legs don’t exactly scream majestic dance fighter. 

“Uh, yeah. Will they do?”

She sighs. “No. Here, let me get something for you.”

She reaches into her pocket and grabs a key, unlocks a locker behind her. Inside is bags, hangers, the like. She pulls out a pair of scrawny black pants that look a little small, but stretchy. He takes them, and she reaches back in without turning her head. Then she brings out a navy blue tank top, fitting, that would probably reveal more of Lance’s collarbones and chest than he would normally care for. 

“The more skin you reveal the more the audience will like you. Not gonna lie, newbie, this is a game of sex just as much as it is a game of violence. These things won’t constrict your movement too much either.” 

“Mhm? Sure you don’t just want a better look at my body?”

She turns to look at him, smirks “Never said I didn’t. You can keep the clothes, by the way, they’ll probably be wrecked in the the fight anyways.” 

\--

 

Lance shouldn’t be so nervous. He’s faced fights before, hell, he’s taken on several Galra soldiers at a time. But it wasn’t like this. Not this naked. Not this playful. Hand to hand combat, sort of, but it’s also so tactile, dynamic. 

He had met his opponent earlier, and by god they were marvelous. Deep green scales that shone an iridescent peach under the flickering light of the locker room. On their face was a beak, which they covered with a leather mask similar to one of a plague doctor. Through two holes were gleaming, slanted eyes like those of a cat, and their body. Their body almost like that of a bird, one set of multi jointed arms and one set of folded wings. 

Lance had felt so plain in comparison. 

He can hear the announcer on stage, readying the audience for a newcomer who may impress. For a moment, he thinks,  _ I always get end up in weird situations like this  when I talk to hot girls lately.  _

And then, it’s time.

Someone gives him a shove and he stumbles out into the path that leads to the stage. The lights are dim again, the audience surprisingly quiet in their curiosity. And he, Lance realizes, is the one they’re curious about. The ring seems much taller when he’s standing up against it. He grabs hold of a pole and works his way up. 

He sees Shiro from the crowd. He’s staring straight at him, and doesn’t look excited, to say the least. Concerned, more like. But he doesn’t _ know.  _ Lance is  _ capable,  _ he can  _ do _ this. He’s good for things other than hitting on girls and getting the team stuck in crappy situations. He needs Shiro to know that more than he’s willing to admit. 

His opponent, or partner he supposes, crosses to the center of the ring and outstretches a hand. Ready, so ready, Lance takes it. And then he’s on the ground. 

_ Alright,  _ he thinks,  _ maybe I should be a tad less trusting.  _

He stands back up, slicks his hair back from his eyes, and smiles, devious. 

“Is that the best you’ve got?” 

And the creature rushes him. One minute they’re across the ring and the next he’s staring into slanted eyes, mischievous.  _ Teasing.  _ But this time, he doesn’t let it sway him. The two link hands and are suddenly swinging around each other at full force. Lance is taken into a pivot, then crouches as a swing comes suddenly toward his face. He lifts himself back up and practically falls into his partner’s arms, both hand draped around their neck. They use the momentum to glide Lance across the floor, toes barely touching the ground.  Without warning, they grab both his legs with one arm and force him quickly onto his back. Not an attack. Lance skillfully lets himself fall into the dip, toes pointed up toward the ceiling. 

Then it’s his turn. As he comes back up, Lance bends his leg at the knee and hooks it around the body of the other, effectively setting them off balance. And it’s an elbow to the back, a left hook around the stomach. 

He’s going to win this. 

Lance is sweating already, but he’s having fun. Combat like this was made for people just like him, he can tell. He takes one faltering moment to glance over at Shiro, see if he’s watching, surprised and proud and excited. 

But that’s not what he sees. 

What he sees is Shiro’s back as he sets off for the exit. 

And  _ bam,  _ he’s on the floor again. His jaw line aches from the hit. He rubs it, and looks up.

For the first time, his opponents speaks. “Look only at me,” they say. 

He finds his way back up onto his feet, and the dance begins again. 

\--

 

It’s like fire. The sound of gaudy cheering, the lights focussed on a bloodsoaked stage, the anticipation of who’s going home with a medal and who isn’t going home at all. It’s suffocating, terrifying, a reminder of something that Shiro tries to avoid at all costs. 

Sure, you can throw away the medal, but the memory stays.

It’s not winning, this, it’s forcing someone else down until they can’t get up. 

He looks around himself, at the scenery that’s much more informal but all too similar nonetheless. Gleaming eyes stare at the ring in the center of the room, ready to see a mile-high climb of desperation, who can be more afraid and who can do more about it. He reminds himself that this is for fun, that this is something that is volunteered for, not forced. These are not prisoners, and yet. 

He needs to get out of here, needs to be  _ anywhere  _ else. He turns to tell Lance, ready for the escape, but the boy is already walking in the opposite direction of the door. He grabs hold of his arm.  _ Wait. Don’t leave.  _

It comes out as “where are you going?” 

Lance turns around, so clearly undistressed. Excited, even. He says a few words before disappearing in the crowd. And then, Shiro is all alone. 

Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder is a weird thing. It’s the type to hit you in unexpected waves. One minute, everything is fine, but then the flashbacks start and stability goes downhill. Cold sweats. Jittering hands. Desperate need for movement- jolting, hostile, erratic. Next thing you know you’re curled up in a shaky ball, trying to breathe like you’ve got gills. It lasts for too long, and never fully goes away. Shiro imagines it like walking along a tightrope. His courage is only as strong as his balance. 

One Mississippi, two Mississippi, in through the mouth and out through the nose. He closes his eyes, plugs his ears, pretends he’s in an empty room.  _ Lance will be alright. He’s a good fighter. This isn’t a Galra stadium, there are no gladiators here.  _

Lance enters the stage, and Shiro forces himself to calm down. To watch. To see that this is completely different, that it’s okay. But the moment Lance gets hit, he tenses. And the moment Lance starts  _ doing  _ the hitting, his composure vanishes completely. 

Every muscle in his body shakes against his will. Tears burn against his eyelids. Uninvited, a word finds itself at the tip of his tongue. 

_ Champion.  _

He hopelessly aims for the door, seeking escape. The air of the outside hits him cold. Shiro runs up the steps, and runs some more, down the alley and back again. He needs movement, something to tell him that he is  _ alive,  _ that he has a  _ body  _ and it’s made for something other than  _ destruction.  _ But there is one part of himself that he can never get rid of, that’s been soldered to his body permanently, a reminder of who he is, what he’s done. 

_ The arm.  _

He scratches at where metal meets flesh, frantically, until skin breaks and red shows through. Red, human. Pain, human. That’s him, that’s him, that’s his blood. Two hands meet the brick wall, then a forehead. His entire body slumps, spent, until he falls down onto his knees. Somehow, he finds the means to turn himself around, sit against the wall. The entire thing vibrates from the sound inside. He lets it calm him, focusses on the feeling against his back as he tries to let his mind go blank. 

“Shiro? Shiro I won, are you there?”

Lance.  _ Lance.  _ He doesn’t want him to see him like this, doesn’t deserve to have Shiro’s emotional wreckage dumped on him. He has to get it together asap. He stands back up, tries to force the anxiety from his body, steady his hands. 

“Yeah, I’m right over here. That’s great, did you get any rewards?” 

“Oh man I did,” he says, practically bouncing as he makes it round the corner to show off his spoils. When he sees Shiro, he stops in his tracks. 

“Hey,  friend, are you okay?” 

“Fine. Just needed some fresh air.”

A crease appears between Lance’s eyebrows, a sigh passes out of his lips, but he takes it. 

“Alright, well, I got some serious money from winning that thing. Looks like a lot of people were betting against me. Let’s go find ourselves a room.”

He takes Shiro’s hand, gently, and leads him off into the dark. 


	4. Exposed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks!  
> Sorry for the late release. I took a 1 day break for travel.  
> Here comes the reason for that M rating! You have been warned.  
> Enjoy~

Crisp as night time ever is, soft white lines and creases that fold into each other in the dark. It's effervescent, anything but still. Blurry grains of sand gather at his eyes, mind clouded with the half-conscious lucidity of drifting in and out of sleep. Lance reaches a finger up to the crevice at his nose, and rubs away the extras. Sideways, laying down, looking out the window that rests just past the nightstand at the edge of his bed. He can feel the movement from below, sounds, smells, lights, each seeping in through the crack he had placed there for an extra bit of air. It wisps over nose, mouth, a cold little sting that leaves him wanting to bury his head deep under the covers.

They had spent little time in the late night searching for a room, both exhausted for their own reasons. Lance kept his hand tightly clasped to Shiro's as they stumbled down streets, up stairs, and into warm beds. Each step felt like a question, but Lance had kept his mouth shut, opting to offer comfort over curiosity. The man had clearly been distressed. Lance had been too focussed on his own feelings, of excitement, of competence, to realize that Shiro might not exact the same responses when faced with a ring.

Lance doesn't know much of Shiro's time as a prisoner of the Galra, but he had heard whispers. Things that caused Keith to stop arguing and Allura to get a sad expression on her face. He had learned as much as the word champion, a title. Before, he had not been sure where it came from, but now he might have an idea. To be a champion, after all, you have to win.

His face is cold but his body is not. Radiating behind him is warmth, pleasant, something he doesn't really think about but appreciates in his woozy state of mind. He eases into it, trying to line his body up against the heater, alien tech or whatever, at his back. The alien tech moves. The alien tech curls a strong arm around his waist. Lance stills.

Slowly, he turns his head to see who it is that's sharing his bed (not that he minds, he always welcomes cuddling). He's met with Shiro's sleeping face, shallow breathing, parted lips. For a moment he's surprised, but that falls into remembering, and that falls into nurturing. Lance is the ultimate cuddler, he'll have you know, after quelling younger sibling's fears of monsters under the bed, or allowing them to sleep in his after a nightmare. He's very good at what he does.

Carefully, he turns around in Shiro's arms, moving to face him. Inches away from someone's face is a good distance to take in every feature, each line of black that overflows into the gray tuft, each beginning crease from stress, or from smiling. Aftershave which Lance has never seen because Shiro keeps himself controlled. A tiny mole nestled into the crevice between his eyebrow and his lid.

If you asked Lance to describe Shiro in one word, it would be sturdy. He doesn't think he needs to explain why.

But even sturdy things can be pushed down. Demolished, caused to crumble in all the worst ways. People aren't made like elastic, aren't meant to be stretched thin until they're worn and useless. Lance finds resolve at that moment, as much as any half-awake teen can, to be a protector. Idols are magical, awe inspiring, sure. But they're also human.

He reaches to cradle Shiro's head in his hands, and drifts back into sleep.

\--

 

When he wakes, Shiro is gone.

Lance sits up on his mattress and stretches, looks around. The man is not only gone from his bed, he's not even in the room. Lance moves to get up, and winces. Oh, pain. He supposes that's what happens when you get beat up by a scaly bird thing. He had just started recovering from the crash, too.

Lance feels across a split lip, rough from crusted blood and dead skin. He wonders if this is something he should be regretting. Sure, he had made enough for a room, but it had not left him in the best of conditions. And Shiro, well. Lance isn't sure what to think. He just wonders what caused the guy to get to the point where he would be actually willing to accept such clear-cut comfort.

He hears a bit of fumbling at the door, and next thing he knows, Shiro himself is slipping through, a cup in each hand.

"Hey, you're up."

Lance yawns. "Uh, yeah. Hi. Whatchya got there?"

A little quirk finds its way to the edges of Shiro's lips. "Well, I remember how much you were complaining when we first started staying in the castle. 'I need coffee or I'm going to die,' I think that's how you phrased it."

" _You didn't._ "

"I did." He goes over to sit at the edge of Lance's bed. "Well, sort of. It's not anything you would find on earth, but it does the trick."

Lance goes to take the cup from Shiro, groaning. "Dammit dude, you're gonna ruin me. I just got over that addiction." He sees that Shiro has another cup. "Wait, since when did you need caffeine in the morning?"

"That's not a weird thing, Lance."

"I know, I know. I just thought you were like, above it or something. Takashi Shirogane, the man whose energy has no limits."

Shiro brings an informative finger up. “A little known fact about me,” he quips, “I used to be a barista back when I was trying to earn money at the Garrison. I drank more of the stuff than is probably healthy for any human being. I used to like those pumpkin things, what are they called…”

“Pumpkin spice lattes?”

“That’s the one.”

“ _No._ ” Lance stores that in his head for later use. Probably blackmail.

“Yeah but I stopped when, well…” he goes quiet. Looks down at his cup, suddenly at a loss for words. Lance takes it as his queue to speak up.

“Hey, this is good! Tastes like some kind of root, almost. Have you tried yours yet?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. It’s very good.” After a moment, “sorry about that.”

Lance gives him a pat on the shoulder, a look of sympathy. They sit in understanding silence, until, “Oh! Hey, I’ve got some news. Talked to a guy last night who said he knew someone whose field of expertise is ancient Altean technology. Maybe we can convince him to help fix our lions.”

“That’s great. Where can we find him?”

Lance sighs. “See, that’s the problem. Apparently there’s a moon orbiting this planet, one that’s inhabitable, so quite a few people live there. Including our guy. So I asked, ‘how can we get there?’ and I found out there’s this shuttle, but it’s kind of on the pricy side. I’m not really sure how we can afford it, seeing as last night we were only going for as much as a bed and a little food.”

But Shiro doesn’t seem let down by the news. In fact, he looks optimistic. “That’s perfect. I was just talking to a worker at the cafe downstairs, who said she knew someone at the edge of the city looking for healthy bodies.” His tone turns serious. “We’re probably going to be here a while, I don’t want you keep getting injured by fighting for money every night.”

“Yeah, yeah, mom.”

They both smile. It feels good to have a plan. For the first time since being cast apart in the wormhole, he doesn’t feel like they’re just trying to survive the next night. And what’s more, they’ve got direction. If they can get in good with this fixit guy, just maybe, he and Shiro can start looking for the rest of the team. And he’ll feel Blue again. He misses Blue.

“How do you suppose we’ll get to the edge of town?”

\--

 

Culture shock. Lance had thought he’d be over it by now, what with having lived on a castle straight out of a sci-fi cult movie, but nope. Sure, he’s used to the big things, like instantaneous space travel or being judged for the shape of his ears, but it’s the little things that still get him.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do with _this_?”

Shiro, who is very carefully shaving off the last of his stubble with little more than a pocket knife, laughs. “You’ll figure it out. I did. Try turning the spigot up.”

He twists at a nob on the wall, attempting to adjust the pressure so he can actually _use_ this thing that they dare to call a shower. It’s more like a fountain, with just one, measly valve along the floor placed right next to a drain. When Lance had first tried to turn it on, it gave about as much water as a puddle. And now. You know that moment when you’re trying to use a water fountain but barely any water comes out, and so you press harder and it sprays all over your face? Now imagine that, but way, way bigger. Dammit, Lance hasn’t even taken off his clothes yet.

“It’s official. I hate this thing.”

When he’s done shaving, Shiro leaves the bathroom, and from there it’s an upward battle.

But he's a fighter, Lance. Even gets a little clean in the process, all that grime washing off in hot steam. He scrubs his skin hard enough to leave behind little red lines, and never has he felt so alive. There’s no judgement here. Lance buys _face cream_ for fuck’s sake. He’s a hygienic guy. He even manages to wash his clothes a little bit, drying them off with something similar to a blow dryer when he’s all done with his own needs.

By the time he’s coming out of the bathroom, Shiro is already sitting at the edge of the bed, putting on his shoes. He looks up to greet Lance, who’s still a bit damp, then looks away. A little bit of pink slips to his cheeks. Grabs for the other shoe. Was that?

“You all ready to go?”

“Uh.” No. He must have been misinterpreting it. “Yeah, just gimme one second to gather my things.”

A few minutes later and they’re off heading down into the lobby of the hotel. The whole place is small, and pretty run down, but at least it was something. They check out with the bored-looking employee at the front desk. Backpacks full, shoes on, the two set out.

\--

 

It’s just a bus, really. The only difference is that it hangs rather than rolls, rides along a taut line interweaved throughout the city. Lance had noticed the lines last night, disregarded them. Who knew that memory would be useful when trying to figure out how to get to the edge of town.

It makes a high-pitched scraping noise as it moves down the road. Now, Lance knew the city was big, but this is ridiculous _._ After making it out of the part of town for refugees, they’re thrust into an intricate metropolis. Buildings surround them, so tall that he can barely see the sky. Lance puts on his headphones, presses play. Music fills his ears, and the scene before him becomes so much more fascinating with a soundtrack to accompany it. And yes, of _course_ Lance claimed window seat. Shiro sits beside him, head tilted against the back of his chair, eyes lightly shut. But they shoot open as the gravity changes beneath them, and Lance discovers the reason why the bus hangs instead of rolls. Up they go, to multi-level stops and destinations, a constant flush of passengers at every altitude.

After the initial excitement, Lance slouches back down into the position of a relaxed observer, and Shiro closes his eyes once again. At the edge of the endless downtown, there are suburbs, and at the edge of those are tourist stops, roadside attractions and gift shops that nobody would ever actually go into. It’s a long ride, and Lance worries that they might have accidentally gone too far. But then he hears that familiar ding, and an electronic woman’s voice announces their stop. He stretches as they make it round a hill, one more corner before reaching their destination.

And that’s when he sees it.

The crash of waves makes a heavy breeze, makes the window rattle in its frame.

That is, until Lance’s face and hands glued against it keeps the thing still.

“Shiro! Shiro, wake up, we’re here. Look, Shiro!”

He doesn’t look back at all, too excited to see the other man’s response. See the way his eyes smile at the rapture in Lance’s voice. See him not even bother looking past the shaking figure in front of him.

When the bus stops, he turns around in an instant, patting and pushing at Shiro to get out of his way before he practically mauls the man. Shiro stands up, and Lance is out, rushing toward the door with hasty enthusiasm. He doesn’t need to shove his way to the front at this point, they’re the only two left this far out on the track. With a quick “thank you” to the driver, he’s off, racing with glee toward the edge of the water. Shiro watches out the window as Lance stumbles over himself in attempts to get one shoe off, then two, before he’s back at it again.

Shiro likes to think of himself as a pretty composed person. Other than the bouts of PTSD, he’s not usually caught off guard by his own emotional responses. But lately, there is something, or rather _someone,_ who has been causing him to act without thinking. So when he sees Lance running barefoot out onto the beach like a delighted child, he just _beams._ He’s not really sure where it came from, but this image in front of him makes him feel so warm, so happy. And before he knows it, he’s flying after him.

The ocean here is different, adhering to the warm colors of the planet's land and sky. It’s tinted orange, and sparkling down on its surface is the angled beam that can only be caused by a setting sun. The sand underneath his feet is a deep burgundy, speckled with orange and purple from the surrounding foliage. He passes the gate that separates the sidewalk from the coast, and sees Lance standing at the perimeter. He watches as the boy tilts his head down to look at buried feet, then up at coral sky. And then, out.

Shiro’s sure he’ll fall off the edge of the world if he takes one more step.

It’s not the first time the word _beautiful_ comes to mind.

Left foot, right foot, two dirty socks, and it’s the second pair of feet on coarse sand. He sinks into it with each step, a feeling that he didn’t know he missed. It’s subtle, really, but makes his heart hurt. Beat.

Shiro was so excited as a student at the Garrison, so sure that there was something out there, something amazing that he was going to discover. But it’s hard to keep that hope when they very thing you admire pulls you into a personal hell. Captures and imprisons you. Tortures you then forces you to fight.

Becoming part of team Voltron was finding family. But more than that, it was an opportunity to gather himself, regain his passion for the universe and everything in it. Every time he found himself in a field of green grass, or among tall trees, or taking in the magnificent coast, he let himself think, if only just a little, _maybe there is hope._

The shiver goes straight up his spine when the first wave falls over his feet. Lance is right there beside him, but it’s so clear that his mind is elsewhere, eyes focussed intensely on the horizon. His smile then is not still, limbic like it is fickle. Loving, longing, hurt. The boy breathes in with uncertainty, and out with intention. Those lips extend into an amorous grin, and the laughing begins. Small at first, but bursting in just seconds. Lance is overflowing with joy, staring into the sea like it’s a long lost love. He cups his hands in a circle around his mouth, and screams into the distance.

“Hellooooooo! Can You Hear Me!”

It echoes over the water, but is quickly drowned out by the sound of crashing waves. That’s when Shiro notices tears at the corners of Lance’s eyes. He opens his mouth, closes it. One rolls down his cheek. Shiro tries to resist the urge to hug him, knows that this is an emotion he needs to experience on his own.

“ _This_ is what it’s like, Shiro.”

“What?”

“Varadero Beach.”

And yet, the need to touch is too great. As the second tear makes its way to slip down his face, Shiro reaches down to take his hand. Comfort, he thinks, just like the night before. He squeezes it, and-

“Tell me about it,” he says, “this beach.”

Lance looks at him then, in a way that makes his heart ache and tremble at the same time. Then, back into the distance.

“It was beautiful, man.” He sighs. “But you know, it’s one of those things. When you face something every day, live just next to it, it’s easy to take it for granted. But now, I regret every morning I didn’t go out there and breathe in the salty air.” He looks up again. “I miss home, Shiro. Like, a lot. I feel so lonely.”

Shiro wants to hold him in his arms, tell him that everything will be okay, that he is here and will do everything in his power to help fill that earth-sized void. Tell him that he has family, right here beside him, holding his hand.

He doesn’t.

.

“I think I’d like some time alone, if that’s okay.”  Pause. “I mean, if you’re chill with it. You can go on ahead, I’ve got the name and address of our guy scribbled down in my pocket. I’ll catch up later.”

Shiro doesn’t want to go.

But he nods. “Okay. Just please don’t stay out too late.”

When his feet go back into his shoes, Shiro already misses the feeling of the sand between his toes.

\--

 

“You Shiro?” An old sort with tentacles and a well-groomed beard says from behind the counter, “Yeah, Cinnie called me earlier ‘bout you. Said there was some folks looking for a couple days work. Can provide, if you can.”

“That’s great. What does the job entail?”

The guy puts a cigar up to his mouth, lights it, takes a puff. “You give me that pretty face as a means to rake in customers, and I’ll give you room, board, and a little extra spendin’ money. Sound good?”

“My friend and I are trying to buy tickets for the moon shuttle. How many days of work will we need in order to afford that?”

Puff. “Ah, I gotcha. How’s this sound- five days, and I’ll pay you and your friend’s fair. He’s gotta be working too, though. Where is he now?”

“That sounds perfect. My friend is by the ocean, but I’m sure he’d be happy to help. He should be by later. His name is Lance, you can send him to me if you see him.”

“Great,” he coughs out, “I’ll show you to your room.”

It’s an inn of some sort, with a bar and restaurant to replace the lobby. The man leads him up the steps and down the hall, just stopping outside of a smaller, less fancy-looking set of doors. No bells and whistles to get the customer excited for their stay, just sanded wood.

“This is the maid’s quarters, though that just consists of Penny and myself. We’ve got our own bedroom, so this doesn’t get used ‘cept when someone comes along like you. Feel free to make yourself at home.”

He unlocks it and they step into the room. It’s tight, but not uncomfortable, with two beds just next to each other, some counterspace for cooking, and a door to what Shiro assumes is a bathroom. A huge window rests on the opposite wall, just above the beds, with a view out onto the waterfront. It’s cozy, charming. Shiro is glad they found something. After all, they could have ended up with much, much worse.

The old man leaves with a click, and Shiro finds himself alone. He sits down on the edge of one of the beds, mattress squeaking under him. He bounces up and down a few times, listening to the squeak.

“Hm.”

He decides to take the other bed.

In between the two is a small table. He leans over and pulls out one of its drawers, curious to see if there’s anything inside. He feels around and finds a book, grabs it, and pulls it onto his lap. The title is in some language he’s never seen before. Shiro opens it up, flips through the pages, delights in its old smell. When he reaches to put it back, the first few drops find their way to his ears.

Rain.

It starts as a quiet pitter patter, but soon picks up into heavy shower. _Huh,_ he thinks, _so this is orange too._ Well, that’s his first thought. His second is _I hope Lance is okay._ His third is _he’s an adult. He’ll be fine. Right?_

Right?

He picks up that book again, flips through it a few more times, studies the details of how the letters are drawn. He worries about Lance. He decides to work out, get his strength up again, 50 push-ups on each hand. He worries about Lance. He takes his second shower that day, it’s warm. He worries about Lance.

Hours pass, and Shiro starts to think that his worries might not be so unwarranted. It’s still pouring, and he gets why Lance might want to stand out in the rain for a little while, but this long? It’s unnerving.

He grabs his keys and sets out down the hall. The old man gives him a sympathetic look as he leaves. The teen is probably just sitting out where he left him, perfectly fine, feeling the sweet sensation of warm drops thrumming against his skin. But what if he’s _not?_

He’s not.

Where just hours ago Shiro had watched his friend run joyfully across sand, there is only the faint marks that his feet left behind.

No.

This can’t be happening, no way is Shiro going to let someone else disappear on him, have someone else taken away.

He’s going to find him.

The rain gradually soaks through his hair, his clothes, but he barely even notices. Shiro runs up and down the beach, eyes peeled. He shouts, “LANCE” and, “ARE YOU THERE.” He mutters, “Where _are_ you?”

A passerby sees him in his frantic state, and stops to ask if he is okay. When he tells them what’s wrong, they apologize but cannot help. They suggest that he can put an ad up on the missing persons board. Missing persons. My god. The panic gets worse. He wipes the wet back from his face, squeezes his eyes too tight, and looks around himself once more as if that will be the deciding moment where he’ll find him. He sets off into a sprint. “LANCE,” and again, “LANCE?”

It’s gotten dark at this point, the once flickering light across the sky has disappeared behind the horizon. Anxious, his thoughts fall into a muffled clarity. He’ll go back, and he’s not sure if it’ll help but maybe there’s some way he can contact him from the inn.

Shiro shakes dry the door, and heads inside. When the old man sees him, his once sympathetic expression turns to one of concern.

“You’re lookin’ pretty cold, boy. How about you sit down and I serve you up a nice pint of cider?”

Shiro shakes his head. “No. No, that’s okay. I’m worried, I need to find my friend, I shouldn’t have left him alone and now I think he’s missing and I need to figure out how I can find him I don’t want him to be alone on his own what if he’s in danger I-”

“Woah, woah there bucko. This friend of yours, is he all scrawny-like? With brown hair?”

He meets the man’s eyes with all the desperation in the world. “Yes! How did you know? Did you see him?”

“Sure did. He came through right after you set out, and I sent him up to the room like you asked. Should be there now.”

And he’s gone, leaving no trace but the sound of thumping feet up the stairwell.

“Coulda said thank you.”

\--

 

When he unlocks the door to their room, there he is. Standing there in his boxers and tank, drying his hair, looking as relaxed as a person who had not just been missing. He looks up.

“Oh, hey, Shi-”

“Where were you!?”

Lance’s eyes change. Stung, confused. “What do you mean? I was on the beach, like we agreed.” He tries a smile.

“Do you know how worried I was about you? _Hours_ I waited, Lance. And when I went out to check on you, you weren’t _there._ ”

.

“Wait, you went to check on me? I can take care of myself you know, I wasn’t going to get lost.”

Shiro growls. “You don’t _get_ it. We are targets of Zarkon, wandering alone, anything could happen, _god_ I’m such an idiot.” His tone takes a turn. “I shouldn’t have let you… It was a bad idea…” There it is again, shaky hands, building tension readying itself for spasms of fear. He doesn’t want this, to show this side of himself to Lance. The team depends on him, it’s his responsibility to take care of them, as the eldest, as the leader, as a friend. Beratement and blame, both for losing Lance in the first place and then losing his cool in front of him.

_Get your shit together, Shiro._

_Burden._

_._

The tension in the air fades.

“Hey,” Lance whispers, “hey hey hey, no. You’re fine.” He walks over and lays a hand down on his arm. Rubs it, calm. “You’re alright.”

“You shouldn’t have to deal with this. With me.”

“I’m not dealing with anything, Shiro. Listen to me.” He reaches up to place a hand on each shoulder. Forehead meets forehead. “You’re _family._ ”

Shiro’s breathing steadies, briefly, but the word comes back around again. _Burden._ His head hurts, eyes sting. He wants to hit something, or lie down, or both. His mouth quivers when he says the words.

“I’m sorry.”

But Lance won’t have it. “Don’t be. You are allowed to feel things. You are not imposing on me or anyone else by having emotions.” He pauses, laughs. “Shit, you should see me when I’m in a bad mood. I’m a _wreck._ ”

Shiro doesn’t realize he’s been squeezing his eyes shut until he opens them. And suddenly, he’s very aware of the boy before him. Eyelashes tickle his face, and deep blue eyes stare intensely into his own. His pupils are blown in the dim light. _Wow._

His heartbeat falters, accelerates. His breathing doesn’t steady this time, it stills. Lance’s lips quirk up at the edges, and Shiro notices that he’s stopped shaking.

“That’s my man.”

And then the most amazing thing happens. Lance’s eyes blink closed. His nose shifts past Shiro’s. Their lips meet.

Oh. _Wow._

Lance kisses with gentle intention, without hesitancy. It passes Shiro’s mind that if this was meant to be anything other than comfort, that Lance would be acting a lot less sure. But it slips away at the thought of _soft,_ and _smells good_ , and _yes._ Without any contemplation, Shiro wraps his arms around the waist of the boy in front of him, deepens the kiss. A small noise, surprised but not displeased, escapes from the back of his throat. It makes Shiro’s heart rattle in his chest. _Nice._

It’s slow, at first. Finds a relaxed pace, lips against lips, a melding heat of taste and pressure. But when Lance reaches up and wraps arms around his neck, the thought occurs to Shiro that this could be more. And that thought hits hard. He feels a steady pool at his lower stomach, an instant flash across his mind of images that only ever occurred when he was alone in his room. But he has access, to this beautiful person, _now._ And he wants more.

He opens his mouth just a bit, breathes in the other’s air, darts a tongue out to meet the crevice between his lips. And Lance practically melts in his arms, a high pitched whine escaping his throat. He moves in further, pulls the boy's tighter so that slender body lays flush against his own.

And oh god, oh god, Lance _bites_ him. Teeth rake softly over lower lip, just the slightest pressure but it does things to him that he would be embarrassed to say out loud. Shiro groans, deep. He can’t help it, his tongue finds its way to dive in, explore every corner of the boy’s mouth. He _needs_ this, good god he needs this, and now seems like a perfect opportunity if ever he saw one.

The kiss heats up, speeds up, and soon their mouths are locked together at full force, weaving in and out of each other in a red, swollen mess. Lance’s nails scrape over his scalp, and Shiro groans again. This time, Lance responds in turn, moaning into the kiss. It drives him wild. He can feel the blood rushing to his groin, thinks that probably Lance can feel it too. That idea goads him on, brings fire to his cheeks, swell to his cock. He reaches down and grips Lance’s butt, drives a thigh in between his legs. And. Um. Boxers don’t hide much. Lance is very much enjoying this. Holy shit. He needs _more._

Lance’s whole body is quaking, loose. Shiro pushes forward, lifts him up by the back and ass, and drives him straight into the bed. Lance bounces on his back, box springs creaking underneath him. And he’s on him, nestling hips between legs, arms over body. He rubs down the boy’s side, his stomach, then back up to ghost over a nipple.

Puffy, slick lips part. “Shiro!”

The man in question practically chokes. Fuck, _fuck,_ he didn’t know Lance could be this _hot._ He’s flushed all the way down his neck, chest, the red seeping through until it hides under his thin tank. Shiro wants to rip off that shirt off and follow that rosey skin all the way down, kissing and biting and sucking until it’s covered in dots. He wants get rid of those inconvenient shorts, wants to see the boy keel as he touches him, teases open his hole, enters-

Oh oh oh oh oh-

Hips roll against hips. They both moan, loud.

Shiro kisses him, sloppy, then moves down his jaw, his collarbone, and bites. Lance bucks up at that, and _damn_ does it make Shiro growl. Swell. Want. Again and again, he nibbles and kisses up and down that neck. His sweat, his smell, his hot skin, it’s all too much, too much. They fall into a messy rhythm of dry-humping, hands all over each other, making noises that can probably be heard through the walls. But Shiro doesn’t care. He’s too focussed on the body underneath him, the beautiful olive skin, the face that’s going to make him cum on the spot if he’s not careful.

Lance stills then, stops rolling his hips against Shiro’s, and the man almost _begs_. But he doesn't, instead gathering himself. He’s an adult, after all, yup. Totally in control. The other gently tugs at his hair, brings him up so they’re staring straight into each other’s eyes. He kisses him, once, twice, then speaks softly.

“Hey. What is this?”

And shit. Shiro’s eyes widen, all the blood comes rushing back into his head. What was he _thinking?_ Stepping over into Lance’s space, kissing him, touching him? Oh god, he crossed a line. This is not good. This shouldn’t have happened, Lance was only trying to comfort him, and he, he _took advantage_ of it, of Lance’s loving nature. He is the worst kind of person.

Shiro pulls back, sits up on the bed. Wipes the spit, _Lance’s spit,_ from the corner of his mouth. Lance props himself up on his elbows. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

What does he _say_? He looks anywhere else, trying to avoid eye contact at all costs, too embarrassed, too ashamed.

“I’m sorry.” What comes next is an excuse. “I think I’m just tired. It’s been a long day, we should get some sleep.”

.

“Oh.” Exasperated. “Uh, okay. If that’s what you want.” Shiro can hear the playful disappointment in his voice. It makes his heart contract.

“Yeah, I do.”

He stands back up, walks the few feet to his own bed, and gets inside. The room is silent, save for the distant sound of crashing waves against the shore. Shiro reaches for a small switch on the wall beside him.

“I’m going to turn off the lights.”

.

“Yeah, um. Alright.”

Click.

Fuck.

_Fuck._


	5. Hooked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? I've got a beta now?  
> Thanks to Berserkered for making my work not suck!

So.

Lance is confused. 

Happy, but confused. 

Okay, he admits that his kiss had a  _ little  _ romantic subtext to it- maybe a teeny bit. But his goal at the time wasn’t to confess his undying love or anything. It was comfort, mainly. He had gotten caught up in the moment, wanted to give him something that would help him understand he’s not alone. 

So, let’s just say Lance was more than a little surprised when it turned into a full fledged makeout session. Not that it wasn’t  _ totally  _ uninvited, just, unexpected. 

He had thought, he was so sure that, Shiro was. 

You know, straight. 

But hey, that’s how it is when you crush after someone for the better part of your life. You make up every excuse in the book to explain why they’re too far out of reach, why you simply can’t have them. Hope past fantasy is just dumb, really. That is unless.

Lance smiles into his pillow, unable to help himself. 

There was a phase in his life that was blatant obsession with the man, sure, and he’s not saying that Shiro isn’t totally still his hero. But from the moment he first shook his hand, the line between idolization and actual affection blurred. And now, to be honest, Lance isn’t sure which is which anymore. He fell out of love, sort of? Or was it in love? 

It’s really unclear. 

However, he can get one thing straight, and that is that he definitely has swollen lips, hot cheeks. And yup, that’s an erection down there. It isn’t fantasy anymore, that really just happened. Lance is too excited, heart banging heavy against his chest, giddy from the implications. Shiro likes him. 

Shiro, man of the stars. 

Likes  _ him.  _

\--

 

No, thank you for asking, Lance  _ didn’t  _ get a fucking wink of sleep.

\--

 

There are several things Lance has noticed since coming to Oypra. The first is that the days are shorter. Of course the entire universe wouldn’t have one time standard, one average day. He isn’t stupid. But it throws him off, his circadian rhythms or whatever. And what’s more, it speeds up his sense of urgency, as if he can only get so much sleep, can only spend the day doing so many things. For example, just yesterday, sleeping in a little bit made it afternoon by the time they set off for the city’s edge. And when they got there, the sun was already setting. It’s weird. 

Light is creeping in from the window overhead. The birds - he’s guessing that’s what they are - are chirping. 

Lance had been resisting the urge to do quite a few things last night. Mainly, to jerk off, to squeal, or some strange combination of the two. 

Deciding that it’s not going to do him any good laying around like this, he very stealthily gets out of bed. Well, it would be very stealthy, except that this bed is the loudest thing since the invention of the airhorn. It squeaks with each shift in his body, and especially when he stands up. He breathes out a sigh of relief when he’s finally off the damn thing. 

The quick glance to check if Shiro woke up turns rather rapidly into a long stare. Those lips were on him last night, those rough hands  _ all over him.  _ Hot damn. Even if it never happens again, it’s enough to fill a thousand fantasies. And by god, the feel of his prickly aftershave on his neck-

Focus Lance, focus. Shoes, uh wait.  _ I have to get dressed first, right.  _ He grabs the pile of clothes at the foot of the bedframe and heads over to the bathroom. Changes. Comes back in to put on his shoes, and stumbles while trying to do it standing up.  _ Smooth, buddy.  _ He takes one last look at the sleeping man before quietly exiting the room. 

He tiptoes through the hall as to not wake the guests, slowly making it downstairs to the main area. He hadn’t realized this last night, but the lobby is actually amazing. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows line the walls, giving the most fantastic view of the fog-set water. It’s a large restaurant if Lance has ever seen one, with enough tables to feed an army. Most every surface and piece of furniture is made from a beautiful auburn polished wood. And what’s not made of wood is glass, like the sleek bar to his right, filled with a wide array of alcohols that Lance has never even heard of. Or to his left, the round, globe-shaped fireplace that twists up into the ceiling before it disappears. Lance is mesmerized by the way it magnifies the fire inside, causing each movement to swell. 

“You’re up early.” 

Lance jumps, because that shit scared him, and turns around. 

“Holy- oh! Hi. Yeah, couldn’t sleep. I didn’t see you there.” 

It’s the elder gent from before, the owner of the inn. He looks vaguely amused, but doesn’t say anything. He walks, if that’s what you would call it, over to the bar, and goes through a sliding door that Lance hadn’t noticed before. One second, two, and he pokes his head back out. 

“You coming?” 

Lance blinks. “Right! Yes.” Wow, one morning of caffeine and he’s already this messed up without it. He follows him back into a kitchen, and watches him as he circles around a counter to put a kettle on. 

“We haven’t been introduced, have we. My name is Kals, short for a bugger of a long word. Or you can just call me boss. Would you like a cup?” He holds up a package of what Lance assumes is the stuff he drank the morning before. 

“Yes. Please. I go by Lance. Nice to meet you, boss.”

“Likewise.” Kals reaches into the package and pulls out a couple of small cubes, which he crumbles into two cups. “Do you need a different mattress, by the way?” 

“What?” 

He pours steaming water into each mug. “The one you’ve got now is a little loud, dear.” 

Oh. 

“Oh. Oh my god, sorry.” Lance blushes all the way up to his ears. 

“Nah, don’t worry about it. I figured, anyways. Two handsome men from god know’s where come rolling in lookin’ for work, course they’re already obligated. Just don’t tell the customers, ruins the fun.” 

He doesn’t stop blushing. Kals hands him the mug. “So, what exactly  _ is  _ our job here, anyway?” 

“I’ll have you manning the front. Penny’s about to be down and in a tick this place’ll be filled with food and customers for the mornin’ meal. You just gotta bring the stuff out with a smile on your face. Shift ends at dark.” 

“Great, and is Shiro gonna do the same thing?” 

“Pretty much, save for a different schedule. I’ll probably have him work the night.” 

\--

 

Lance  _ loves  _ waiting tables. He was made for this shit, spinning round left and right, taking orders like nobody’s business, laughing and jaunting around with folks just up from their pleasant stay. The bar isn’t open, but they  _ are  _ serving whatever the hell that magical drink is. He’s gonna call it coffee. Space coffee. He’s had three cups. 

He didn’t get the romantic, post-dry hump morning and talk he would have liked, but he’s feeling great. Galra really aren’t the only type of aliens out there. At each table he runs into a new sort, with unique features and an interesting story to tell. And boss let him know that after the last wave of morning-goers are done wafting through, that he can take a break. Guess where he’s going? That’s right, breakfast to Shiro, sleepy Shiro, who’s gonna appreciate the fuck out of him for it. Lance is sure it’ll be great. The appreciation. 

Kals comes up beside him and gives his shoulder a good pat. “You’re doin’ great, kid. They love you. I can take over for a while here, why don’t you go take ten. Head to the back and ask Penny for what you’d like to eat.” 

“Thanks!” And he’s off. Minutes later, He’s got a ginormous plate of food in each hand, and a bounce in his step. 

Skill is everything here, but  Lance has learned in the few hours he has spent as a waiter. He hooks his thumb over one plate and balances the other on the bend in his arm. Steadily, his knuckles meet the door to their room. He hears fumbling from inside, and moments later it creaks open. Oh god, and there Shiro is, just dressed, shirt still crumpled at his waist. 

“Hi.”

“Hi”

“I brought you breakfast.” Shiro doesn’t respond. Just kind of stands there, softly scowling. “May I come in?” 

His eyes meet Lance’s before quickly darting away. “Oh, yeah of course.” He turns around and walks back in.

Lance follows. He walks over to the counter, slides the plates onto it. It’s silent for quite a while, they just kind of, stand there? It’s really awkward, definitely not romantic. Not that he really thought it would be, he’s not that naive or anything. Lance goes to talk, but- 

“I-”

“Listen-”

.

“You go first.”

“No, you.”

“I insist.” 

.

“I’m sorry,” Shiro begins, “About last night. I was tired and not feeling well and I guess. I guess-” He sighs. “Anyways, you can just forget it ever happened. It won’t happen again, I promise.” 

Oh.

Oh  _ ow.  _

_ Dammit! _

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Lance reaches up and rubs the back of his head. “I was gonna say the same thing, I mean, if you want.” His eyelids start to burn. He needs to get out. “Well, ah, I’m gonna use the bathroom, you can go ahead and start eating without me. It’s really, really good! I had some earlier.” He tries his hardest not to run for the door, ducks his head down to hide his eyes before slamming it shut. Locking it. 

He doesn’t want him. No, of course he doesn’t, who was Lance kidding himself. Shiro wants to forget it all happened, of course, that makes perfect sense. Because that’s what it was for him. 

A  _ mistake _ . 

Lance sits on the edge of the toilet, chokes back tears.  _ Shit, I’m such a dumbass, believing-  _

At a time like this, any normal person would be feeling the sweet sting of rejection. And sure, that’s there, but a more prominent emotion is resonating, clouding Lance’s thoughts. 

_ -that someone like me- _

And what’s that? Well. 

_ -deserves someone like him.- _

It’s inadequacy. 

And it eats him alive. 

\--

 

Shiro shouldn’t have been so blunt like that. It was cold, after sharing a moment the previous night that was so intense. So intimate. It was immature of him, not waiting for Lance to talk his fill, working it out so they could continue down the road as friends. Just friends. 

The truth is, Shiro just didn’t want to hear the rejection. So he beat him to it. 

But now he’s sure the teen’s thoughts are all mixed up, jumbled, trying to figure out just what the hell Shiro’s intentions are. The man has been around the block enough times to know that it’s  _ really not okay _ to send someone mixed signals like that. Lance was there for him, helped him get through his own emotional turmoil, and what was his response? To take advantage of his kindness, then change his mind and say no thanks. Lance is probably baffled right about now. Shiro sighs. 

“Well done, self.” 

Lance isn’t just baffled. When he comes out of the bathroom, Shiro has to actively make an effort to keep his breathing steady. Oh no. This is much, much worse than he thought. The kid’s eyes are red and bloodshot, his nose not much better, and there’s still that undeniable moist set in his cheeks. When he speaks, it’s pain. 

“Hey, on second thought, I don’t think I’m all that hungry. You go ahead though. I’m gonna get back to work.” 

Shiro is speechless. He tries, “I’m sorry.” It doesn’t fit. 

“Hey, no worries dude. I’m just tired. You take your time waking up, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.” 

And with that, he’s gone. 

\--

 

Hey, you know? Everyone here is an alien, right? They don’t know about human anatomy, they don’t know what bulgy red eyes or a snotty nose means. They won’t even be able to tell the difference, Lance can totally keep working, distract himself. 

Yeah, that’s a load of crap. 

“You look like shit,” Kals says from his position at the bar, face behind the newspaper, “breakfast wasn’t that terrible, was it?” 

Lance laughs, covers. “No, no, it was delicious. Penny is a great cook. I can get back to work now, if you want.” 

He peeks his eyes out from behind the paper. “Looking like that? I don’t think so. Go to the back and let Pen get you a cold pack for that head. It’ll be a light load until the evening rush, I’ll call you when you’re needed.”

.

“Thanks.”

“Hey now don’t start cryin’ again. It’s for business, business.” 

He does as Kals says, then makes his way for back exit. It’s chilly- the morning air still hasn’t burned off and the fog of the ocean seeps over onto the land. He walks out into a lot, then around the front to face the water. It’s crazy, really. A whole different planet, in a whole different solar system, and the sea still has that calming effect as if he were back home. It’s hard to believe that traveling through space would make him feel this landlocked. Salty air spills over into Lance’s lungs, stinging. Focus on the physical takes over, on his rapidly drying eyes, on the shivers as the wind rolls off his skin. 

Words rattle off in his mind, a checklist of reasons why he’s not good enough.

_ Immature? _

_ Annoying?  _

_ Fickle? _

Each word seems like less of a question than the one before it. 

It takes all too long for him to regain himself, to go back inside. Apologizing profusely to Kals, Lance puts on his apron and makes it back onto the floor. He’s a trooper, this one. Brooding by himself doesn’t get him anywhere, won’t help him find the rest of the team, find Hunk, who will give him all the damn hugs he needs to feel better. 

Lance is really quite an extrovert, when he thinks about it. Sure, a good long angst session alone in his room is needed every once in awhile, but when it comes down to it. People. He can’t get enough of that shit. Talking to the guests proves to be a wonderful distraction, hearing stories, taking orders, weaving between tables. He keeps his body and his mind busy, and it actually makes him feel a lot better. These people  _ like  _ him, think he’s a blast. The validation of that affects him maybe more than he’s willing to admit. Lance soaks in every drop of it. 

_ I am the best waiter you’ve ever had,  _ he brags,  _ even if I’m not a great defender of the universe.  _

“Buy you a drink?” 

Lance is at the bar now, having just dropped off someone’s dinner and still totally in the zone. He turns his head in confusion, looking over to the source of the question. On one of the barstools sits this  _ guy,  _ styled navy hair and a bit of scruff, light green skin and a smirk of confidence on his face. He’s kind of attractive, actually. In a sleazy kind of way. 

“Uh…” He looks around, then, in a moment of smooth articulation, he points at himself and says, “You mean, me?”

The man laughs. It’s low. “Yeah, you. Who else would I be talking to?” 

“Oh, um. Cool, thanks, but I’m working right now, I can’t really stop and…” He gestures vaguely to get the point across. Flirt? Drink? Something like that. 

“When do you get off then? I could be patient, for someone like you.” 

Woah, coming on strong. Is this what  _ he’s  _ like? Not that he really minds the attention. “At dark,” he states, not knowing where it’ll get him. 

“Perfect.” His tone is mischievous, full of implication. “Well then, worker boy, who should I ask for in a couple of hours?” 

Lance thinks for a moment. Should he really be doing this, giving out his name to strangers who clearly don’t intend to remember it the following morning? Especially on the down-low like this. But his curious side gets the better of him. After all, this isn’t the first time this has happened since they got here. It’s just, he’s on the receiving end this time. 

He’s allowed to be on the receiving end every now and then, isn’t he? 

“Lance.” 

“Lance,” he echoes. The word practically drips from the man’s mouth, languid. “Nice to meet you. You can call me Josiah.” 

\--

 

Shiro doesn’t eat the food, rather, he’s just about ready to go back to bed, to hide under the covers and never come out again. He’s really done it this time, he really is a serious asshole. He should know better. Making out with a teenager, for fuck’s sake? What was he thinking? Shiro has been in relationships, he should know how to handle another person’s feelings, but now he’s done the probably the worst thing he possibly can. 

Has the kid ever even been with anyone before? Was that his first time getting pounced on by someone? Of course it would be an intense experience for him, of course it would leave him feeling vulnerable and exposed, waiting for an emotional gap to be filled where the physical one left off. And what did he do? He dropped him on his ass. It couldn’t possibly be any worse.

“Oh god,” Shiro says, involuntarily, when he thinks of a detail that could make it infinitely worse. What if he’s not even  _ out  _ yet? Everyone knows, but Lance hasn’t exactly talked about it. There was no moment where he took the dive, like Pidge, and made a big announcement to the team. Not that he’s really had the time or the context to do it. But still, Shiro had only ever seen him flirt with girls. He might not have been ready for something like that all. 

These are all excuses, really. Shiro trying to figure out why he made him cry, not willing to admit the real reason. It wasn’t unclear. Lance wasn’t trying to hide his sexuality, isn’t known to hide any part of himself from the world. That’s what makes him so great, after all. No, Lance kissed him first. 

Shiro isn’t an idiot. He knows platonic from romantic when he sees it. 

He groans. Rests his forehead against the door with a solid bump. Scratches his scalp with both hands, rubs his eyes. 

Work. He has to work to eat, to get the tickets for the shuttle, that’s the deal. He doesn’t want to go down there, doesn’t want to face Lance and his red eyes. It’s childish, really. He grabs hold of the door knob, creaks the thing open and bends into it. Eyes shut. Nose crinkled. Head too foggy, not willing to accept the weight of the situation. So, he does the one thing he’s learned from the past few months of dealing with his demons. Ignore it, ignore it. 

Pretend you’re fine. 

He makes his way down the hall, the stairs, and into the main dining area. Shiro isn’t ready to see Lance upset, hasn’t figured out how to help his emotional fallout, let him down more gently that he had before. Because that’s what he has to do, let him down, it’s the only responsible choice. He looks over the crowd of guests, seeking out that broken face from before. 

But that’s not what he’s met with. 

No, in fact, Lance couldn’t look happier, whizzing around in a sea of happy customers, laughing at jokes, giving suggestive little nods and winks, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he skillfully plays with the crowd like each one of them is a good friend. Something happens at that, something that he really wouldn’t like to put a name on. It’s awful, a part of Shiro that makes even himself disgusted. Was that, really? Disappointment? At seeing your friend looking emotionally well?

He had been expecting otherwise, sure.

But he hadn’t been  _ wanting  _ otherwise. 

He watches as Lance leans over one of the guest’s chairs, wildly gesticulating as he describes to them something he cannot hear. Lance looks up, and notices Shiro watching. His grin falters, just barely, before he looks away. 

Had he? 

Shiro walks over to the bar, greets the keeper. Asks him what needs to be done. The instructions barely register, but his body follows them nonetheless. His eyes, however, they follow Lance. And his thoughts, well, who knows where those are. Apron on, he starts on waiting tables, bringing drinks, taking orders. Slowly, more folks trickle in as the light finds its way to the edge of the sky. The windows do wonders for that, Shiro understands why this place was built the way it was. 

It makes Lance’s figure look all the more radiant, a halo of light surrounding chestnut hair, a deep, saturated shadow that leaves a trace behind each movement, around each curve. He notices. He tries not to, but he does. 

And he’s not the only one. This kid is charisma incarnate. Shiro isn’t sure how he does it, grabs the attention of everyone he talks to. Here, he’s really in his element. 

One person in particular catches Shiro’s eye, however. Sitting at the bar is this gangly sort, with long limbs and leering eyes. He really fits the part, hair chalked with gel, legs spread wide as he swirls his drink around in the glass. And that gaze, the one directed at his friend, it’s  _ dirty.  _ The urge to get rid of it is loose at his fingertips. 

But then something happens, something he had not been expecting at all. One minute, he’s squinting into the sun as it shines directly in his eyes. But these short days they really do something. He actually witnesses its movement as the ball of light vanishes behind the endless water. What’s left is an urgent dark, before the lamps are faded in and the fireplace starts to roar. Lance serves his last customer, then actively slouches his body. Shiro can tell he’s exhausted, but instead of calling it quits and going back up to their room (where maybe Shiro can join him for a moment so they can talk), the boy finds himself upright again. The exhausted look only briefly visits his face, before it’s back to one of confidence. Playfulness. And is that? 

Lance gives a flirtatious wink to the man sitting at the bar before rounding into the kitchen. He returns shortly, apron off. His hair is slightly damp now, tussled about. It’s, yeah. Lance is really, very attractive. 

Apparently this guy thinks so too. His eyebrows shoot up as the boy sits beside him, gives him a little nudge with his shoulder. Shiro can’t hear what he’s saying, but the man laughs, places a hand on Lance’s thigh. Something runs through him at that moment. Causes his body to tense, his jaw to tighten. What’s going on here? Shiro knows himself, knows that he isn’t the type of person to get like this. To be  _ jealous.  _

He looks away, gets back to work-

And doesn’t think about it. Doesn’t think about how not okay it is to decidedly push someone away and want to monopolize them at the same time. About how part of him is ready to get violent on this guy if he tries something, as if Lance is an object to be won or a child to be protected. He knows that’s bullshit. That Lance is a person who can make his own decisions, that the only reason he’s sitting at the bar right now, talking to this  _ sleazy fuck  _ is because he  _ wants  _ to. 

That doesn’t make him feel any better. 

A few hours pass, and the restaurant has cleared a bit. Over the course of the night, the customers have sifted out, leaving Shiro lacking for what to do. Now, it would really be nice to regather his thoughts at a time like this, but there’s one thing still distinctively on his mind. He can’t help thinking about it, he can’t help  _ looking  _ at it, because that man from before? He’s still here, periodically feeding Lance drinks as the boy gets all snuggly with him. 

Irk. 

He’s just about ready to give up, to go back to their room and take a break from watching this charade, when the two finally stand up from the bar. Lance stumbles off of his seat, drapes himself all over his alien friend. He’s drunk. The man doesn’t seem to mind though, catching Lance’s fall and slithering one hand around his waist, his lower back. They start toward the door. 

Hold up. 

There are certain things that Shiro can ignore, but he’s not going to stand by and watch as Lance gets taken advantage of. Before he knows it, he’s got one arm on the seedy alien, and the other ready to pull Lance away. 

“Excuse me,” the man says, “Do you need something, big guy?” 

“Look. I know you think you’ve scored, but I’m not going to let you take Lance home.” 

He doesn’t let go of that waist. “You know this guy?”

Lance looks up. “No.” 

“Yes you do, Lance, stop messing around. It’s time you get some sleep.”

“Who is he, your mom?”

Giggle. “Might as well be. Come on, let’s go.” 

“No, no you don’t.” Shiro finally unhooks the arm from Lance’s torso, replaces it with his own. Walks away. “You’ll thank me for this later.” 

Shiro thinks he hears someone shout after him, a slur of some sort. He tries not to think of it as a victory. 

When they get up the stairs, though, Lance stops. 

“Hey, fuck you man.” 

.

“What?”

“I said. Fuck. You.” He escapes Shiro’s grasp, points at him. “Asshole. Shit-o. That guy was  _ into  _ me, man. You ruined it.”

“That guy only wanted you for your body.”

“That’s the _point._ ” He wobbles. “F-fuck you. I’m plenty desirable, people _love_ me. But _nooo,_ not Shiro. I guess I’m just not good enough for you, is that it? Fucking unattainable b-bastard.” 

Shiro’s eyes widen. So that’s it.

He grabs Lance’s hand, leads him to the end of the hall, into their room. The teen shouts after him, tells him to knock it off, that he can walk without someone dragging him for fuck’s sake. 

Once the door is closed, Shiro turns to him. “Alright. We can talk about this in the morning. For now, let’s get you to bed.”

“No! No, y’know what? You’re really hot. It’s not fair. I hate you.” There’s that pointing again. He can barely keep his arm steady. He turns it up, curls the tip of his finger. “C’mere.”

“What?”

“I said c’mere! Don’t you speak Englissh?” 

Shiro is hesitant, worried at this point, but he does as Lance instructs. And then, without warning, the boy grabs him by the collar and yanks, smashing their lips together. It’s messy, burning, short. Lance pulls back to look at him, eyes full of hurt. 

“Wow, I’m really drunk.” 

He leans in again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And you thought it couldn't get any angstier. Pah.


	6. Ductile

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enough angst, let's have some action!  
> Well, sort of. There's still a little angst in there, but shh. Don't tell anyone.

Space booze is a dangerous thing. Lance is abruptly and painstakingly made aware of this when he wakes the next morning, lying sideways in his bed. 

Lance had drunk alcohol before, it’s not like he isn’t accustomed to it, but this is on a whole different level. His ears ring like he’d just stood front row at a concert, his brain feels ready to burst right out of his head, and his stomach - dear lord, his stomach - you know how your nausea gets immensely worse right as you’re about to throw up? Well, that feeling simply doesn’t go away. It’s like someone shoved him in a dryer and turned it on full blast. 

He places a cold hand on his forehead, squeezes hard at the bridge of his nose. Okay, maybe the first couple drinks were nice, strange colored liquids swirling together in crystal goblets. But the shots? Okay, he admits, that was pretty irresponsible. But hey, what is a man to do but drink, in situations like these? Lance knows the code, he’s seen it in the movies. 

But here’s the thing. Sure, the protagonist usually wakes with a burning headache and a twisted feeling in their gut, but they also have that benefit of actually  _ forgetting  _ whatever it is they did under the influence. Last night, though? That shit’s clear as day. 

Lance is pretty sure he’s bruising the bridge of his nose at this point. 

It had seemed like a good idea at the time. Well, that’s not true, but it seemed like something that would give him a temporary feel-good, a reckless fix. And he’s not just talking about the booze. The attention that guy gave him- it wasn’t real appreciation, sure, but it was a well made counterfeit. Before he knew it, Lance was caught up in the seductive hoax, had actually been convinced that going home with this guy would bring satisfaction. He’d be doing something for himself, for once.

He also really, really needed to get laid. 

But that wasn’t how it worked out. Just as Lance was about to make leave, he was stopped by the very strong arms he had been so desperately trying to avoid. 

An embarrassed whine makes its way up his throat. Shiro had saved his wasted ass, and what did he do? He responded with an accusatory finger and uncreative swears. And then, and  _ then.  _

Lance is convinced that he’s the dumbest person in the whole universe. 

Any color that was gone from his cheeks returns as he slams his head back against the mattress. 

Shiro had made it clear that he wanted to forget about any sexual tension they may have had. He didn’t say it, but it was obvious that it made the man uncomfortable. Lance had been drunk, sure, but he disregarded someone’s clear-set boundaries. He called him hot, kissed him  _ quite  _ a few times, then even tried to pull him down to bed. Shiro hadn’t responded, of course he hadn’t. Lance distinctly remembers the sigh that had escaped his lips, the disappointed look on his face as he put him to bed. Tucked him in like a child. Turned off the lights. 

It’s humiliating, stupid even- he totally went and made a fool of himself and crossed lines that were not okay to cross. Sure he was drunk. But that’s not an excuse, only a reason. 

\--

 

The next few days go by in a blur. Since he and Shiro work different shifts, they don’t see too much of each other outside of a passing glance while waiting tables. And when they do, it’s  _ awkward.  _ Lance can count the number of words they’ve exchanged on one hand. He isn’t used to this type of fighting. Lance is hot headed, immature, and he knows it. So he usually ends up in an argument, a competition to see who can be the loudest- like with Keith. This is different, though. Uncomfortable. And Lance hates it with all his being. 

He listens to Lemonade about a million times just to feel that sound. 

On day one, it’s difficult to handle. On day two, it starts to become troublesome, inconvenient. On day three, it’s just plain  _ aggravating.  _ That’s it, he’s  _ got  _ to say something, or else they might go on like this for the rest of their lives. 

The day is quiet, and the the sun has just set for its position in the East. Lance is working, but the restaurant is anything but busy. Most guests have gone out for the day, and the ones who haven’t are already happily eating. Kals sits at his messy check-in desk near the corner of the room. 

“Hey, kid. Come here a second, won’t you?” 

Lance trots over, watching as he grabs what looks like a deck of cards from the shelf behind him. “What’s up, boss?”

He holds up the pack. “Now, I know you’re an offworlder. But you at least know what these are, right?” 

“Yeah, I’m familiar.” 

“Care to play a game a’ Scrag?” 

He lifts an eyebrow. “Of what?” 

“It’s simple, I’ll teach you. Here, sit down.” 

Lance pulls up a chair while Kals deals seven cards to each side. He explains the rules - simple, like he said - and they begin to play. The game’s a little like crazy eights, actually. Lance likes it. 

But more importantly, it’s an in. A conversation starter. 

A couple rounds of getting his ass beat and cigar smoke blown in his face, and Lance goes to ask a favor. 

“Hey, can I borrow this for a while? It’s pretty fun, I’d like to show Shiro.” 

Kals takes another puff, looks up from his hand. “I thought you two weren’t on speaking terms.” 

“Yeah, well. I’d like to be. And I think having a  _ reason- _ ” he holds up a card, “-would be a good place to start.” 

“Alright, alright. Go for it. What happened between you two, anyways?” 

Lance tugs at the front of his shirt, looks to the side. “I fucked up, man.”

\--

 

_ Knock knock knock.  _

“Shiro, are you there?” 

No response. He hears heavy movement from inside, thinks that he must not have heard him. Lance moves to push the door open. There Shiro is, taking up most of the floor, one hand behind his back as the other holds him perilously in plank. Sweat drips from his face. Lance can see the veins in his forehead jutting out. 

He’s been doing this a lot lately, working out- pretty much any time that he’s not sleeping or waiting tables. Lance doesn’t think it’s healthy, but he doesn’t want to say anything.

“Hey man, boss showed me something that I think you might like. Wanna see?”

Shiro looks over, honest to god puzzled, before rolling onto the balls of his feet and standing up. “Sure,” he says. 

Lance urges him over to a table by the kitchen, and they both sit down. “Check it out,” he starts, “they’ve got a nifty little card game on this planet that’s super easy to learn. I think it starts with an S? Here, it’s fun, I’ll teach you. 

Shiro’s body language reads hesitant, but he doesn’t say anything. Lance deals out seven cards. 

After the initial bout of awkwardness, the two fall into a comfortable silence, taking their turns with relaxed ease. It’s straightforward, meditative almost. Each decision requires little strategy, so after a while, Lance’s mind begins to wander. Should he start talking? Is now a good time to apologize? What should he even say after he opens his mouth?

Ah, fuck it. 

“I’m sorry,” he begins, “For acting weird. It’s just, you know, when you look up to someone for so long and just kinda idolize them, and suddenly they become your friend, it’s a pretty big jump. And when I um. Kissed you. The first time- it was for comfort, really. I really wasn’t expecting you to reciprocate, and.” Come  _ on  _ Lance, stop  _ rambling.  _ “Anyways, where I’m going with this is that just because I’ve got a dumb crush doesn’t mean it should be weird between us. I like you, dude, as a friend and a leader. So I’ll get over it, just give me a couple of ticks to regain my cool.” 

Wow, that was  _ not _ what he was planning to say. God dammit, it sounded more like a confession.  _ Way to go, me. _ Shiro doesn’t speak, holds still for a good long while before finally putting down his cards. He visibly unwinds. 

“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry too, for sending you mixed messages. I think I’m really more unstable than I’d care to admit, and you have to deal with the fallout. Sorry.” 

Lance lets a breath out he didn’t know he’d been holding. He places his hand on Shiro’s.

“Hey, buddy. I’m your friend, remember? That’s what I’m here for.” 

\--

 

Some things don’t change galaxy to galaxy, Lance learns. The bitter taste of alcohol, the need for a good shower, and the fact you’ve gotta get up atrociously early just to catch your flight. Lance needs space coffee ASAP, but everything here is sold at twice its actual price and ten times its actual worth. 

The lobby for the shuttle is crowded, folks running left and right as to not miss their time window for boarding. It’s really not that much different than an airport, Lance thinks, despite its position way up in the sky. Every so often he gets a view out a slim window, and by god- it’s like something out of an old-school sci-fi, towering spacecrafts slowly clicking into place as a million little pipes grasp onto the side of the station. Passengers spill out, tired faces and piled up luggage, before wandering off to their respective locations. 

You would think it would take a long time to find something that’s been organized in an unfamiliar alphabet, but luckily, the lobby isn’t all that big. They make it to their gate with time to spare. 

Passengers stand by idly as their names are called out one by one. Lance watches as each of them goes to check in at the ticket booth, then finds a place in line. Soon, it’s his turn too. 

He had changed his last name to a fake one. Some generic thing, just in case Zarkon was on their tracks. It had been Shiro’s idea, but it made him feel cool. Like an undercover agent or something. 

Once they’re in line, it’s back to waiting. It might be his impatience talking, but it really feels like forever. Sore shoulders and feet, Lance is  _ right  _ about to put down his backpack, when of course, it finally starts to move. They follow the person in front of them into the entryway. It’s tubule, long, and barely lit up by stale fixtures on each wall. The further they walk, the more Lance wonders about the architecture of this building, if it’s just one long tower leading into space, at what point they had to stop building  _ up  _ and start building  _ out.  _ He thinks about falling, if he would soar right back down to Oypra’s surface if this tunnel disappeared. 

And then he stops thinking about it at all, because his questions are answered.

That, or he’s just blown away by the lightness in his feet, and the all-surrounding dome that gives him a view of space at every angle. He looks down, and sees the curve of the planet below. It’s as if he’s just floating there, save for the metal grating that rattles as he walks further in. A flight attendant is waiting at the center of it all, smiling artificially, ready to give her speech.

“Thank you so much for flying with us today. The room you have just entered is the viewing deck. You will be instructed to stay seated here until the shuttle is safely in orbit. Once we reach that point you are free to explore any part of the ship you may wish. We have a wide variety of entertainment areas which are offered complimentary to your ride. Please enjoy.” 

When she’s done speaking, the line disintegrates into a rush of people aiming for the best seats. Lance realizes what’s going on, and makes a dash for the spot in the front. That is, before a hand on his arm keeps him from going any further. He looks back.

“What are you doing, Shiro?” 

“Just didn’t want to lose you.” 

He would never tell the the guy, but Lance lives for moments like this- when Shiro reverts back to the childish, young-adult self he should be. The look on his face is so earnest, it makes the boy want to laugh, or give him a hug, or both. 

“Come on then.” He goes into big brother mode. “Pinky.” 

They quickly weave through to the front and secure two spots there. The shuttle wastes no time in taking off, smoothly spinning into the universe as soon as it’s unlocked from the station’s hold. It’s amazing, really. This isn’t through a monitor or tiny window, he’s completely surrounded, immersed in the one thing that he’s been passionate about his entire life. And jeez, that feeling? Who needs drugs when you’ve got this. He’s erratic,  _ thrilled.  _

Shiro hasn’t unlinked from his pinky. Since they’ve sat down, taken off, he has actually tightened his grasp. Lance looks over to see what’s going on, and he’s met with a wide eyes staring off into the cosmos. Shiro, he doesn’t look amazed exactly, though that’s definitely in there. But there’s also wonder, uncertainty- and maybe fear? It’s curiously complex, draws Lance in and doesn’t let him go. He wants to know its source, opens his mouth to ask, ready.  

A chime comes through the PA. A woman’s voice, the same one from before, announces that they have safely made it into orbit and that guests are free to wander. 

The finger that was hooked around his own loosens, lets go, and the opportunity is lost. 

“Are you going to explore?” Shiro asks. There’s a hint of a request, in there. 

Lance doesn’t want to go. “Yeah, I was thinking about it. Will you be alright here on your own?” 

“Just fine.” 

\--

 

It’s a little like a blimp, Lance thinks. Well, not exactly- he always thought when he was a kid that folks could ride inside that large, spherical structure, without realizing it was actually just a giant balloon. You don’t need a helium-filled monstrosity to sail through zero gravity however, just a giant hunk of metal.

He takes lazy steps through the outer hallway, gliding his fingers along the bottom ridges that hold thick windows in place. Sturdy bolts feel rigid under the touch, placed every few inches for safe measure. The interior of the ship isn’t sleek like Allura’s castle, all soft white curves and shining surfaces. This place is industrial, rust at each seam, dirty footprints lining the floor. He almost likes it better this way, spattered with culture- you can tell it’s really been lived in. The castle is nice, sure, but sometimes it feels so cold. He wonders if it wouldn’t feel that way if it was back on Altea where it belonged. Wonders if that’s just his homesickness talking. 

After all, he’s really just a kid. They all are. Just a bunch of stupid teens forced into the same crappy situation. 

And yet, he misses it. 

_ Misses them.  _

Hunk’s bear hugs, Allura’s knowing stares. He misses making fun of Pidge’s short arms and having long conversations with Coran late at night. Hell, he even misses  _ Keith,  _ the asshole that he is. 

They’re like family. And it doesn’t make up for his real one, of course, but it dulls the ache a little bit. 

\--

 

Every couple of feet is a new door with a sign scribbled in foreign script. Now, it may not be a positive trait, exactly, but stuff like this? It fuels Lance on, makes his body wander.

Sure, curiosity killed the cat. 

But  _ he’s  _ still alive and kicking.

Lance has fun with it, explores winding corridors that lead into ballrooms, cafeterias, casinos. Some doors are locked, while others are not. Some rooms are empty save for polished staff members waiting for visitors, and some contain too many passengers to count. It’s like a mix between the Winchester Mystery House and the Starship Enterprise. 

It would be more fun, Lance thinks, if it weren’t in efforts to avoid Shiro. 

Feet grow tired as hours tread by, announcements phoning over the speaker system of the status of the flight, the distance to their destination, the snacks available on the upper deck. Lance reaches his arms up over his head and grabs his elbows, stretches one side, then the other. He lets out a satisfied groan when his back cracks, and goes to do the same with his lower body. Sometimes he forgets that their lions are these super-powered ships, that they can soar at unimaginable speeds despite their size and weight. This thing, though, it’s just so  _ slow.  _ He imagines that on Blue, it would take five minutes to get to this moon, tops. 

“Attention guests, we will soon be entering the atmosphere of our destination. Please make it back to the viewing deck and ready yourself for landing.” 

“Finally.”

Lance looks around, for instructions or signs or really anything that will lead him back to the place he’s supposed to be. It bears no results. So, he chooses a direction and runs with it, hoping that if he goes in a straight line long enough that he’ll eventually make it to to the outer edge of the ship. One would assume so, going by the fact that it’s a closed space so that’s the only  _ logical  _ thing that could happen. But no, of  _ course  _ not. He only gets more lost. Lance moves through vacant rooms and dark passages, unwilling to accept defeat. That is, until.

He goes for the door, pulls it open, and is met with a cloud of dust. A storage room that hasn’t been opened in what, years? 

He grumbles. “Why am  _ I  _ always the one to end up situations like this? Why can’t it be it be Pidge, or better,  _ Keith  _ for a change?” 

Closing the door with a click, Lance turns around and slumps down to sit against the wall. 

_ Well, I probably won’t die if I just stay here during landing, gonna think positive.  _ He goes to take his ipod out of his pocket. It’s an older generation device (read:  _ better  _ generation device), so the battery doesn’t wear thin after an hour like the pieces of crap they make today. It’s getting low though, Lance isn’t sure what he’s going to do when it runs out. I mean, it’s not like he’s got a charger on the castle. Maybe if he just kinda holds it next to a Balmaran crystal, it’ll absorb the energy? Who knows. 

He’s about to put the headphones over his ears, when he hears something. Muffled. 

“The sixth quadron is gonna love this.” 

“Really? No, I thought they were gonna be super disappointed!”

“Don’t sass me, soldier.” 

Soldier? Quadron? Lance puts his stuff back in his bag and scoots to the other side of the room. He listens in, places an ear against the wall. 

“Oh please, don’t act like you’re above it. I’m sure this will  _ boost morale  _ for the whole fleet, if you catch my drift.” 

“They are beauties, aren’t they? I’d give a pretty penny to give a little love to that one, over there.”

“In the corner, dressed in red?” 

“Oh yeah.”

_ Disgusting.  _ If they’re talking about what he thinks, that means- from a brothel? Or. 

“So where’d you get ‘em this time?” 

“Oh, you know, the usual. A pocket full of cash and connections on the downlow can sometimes be pret-ty fruitful. Think they’re from the prisons near J-200, but there’s no real telling with these things.”

No.  _ No.  _ Lance’s eyes go wide, his mouth drops open. He’s horrified, can’t listen to any more of this, needs to go and tell someone. Sure, they may not have their lions, but they’re still  _ defenders of the universe  _ for fuck’s sake, and this is far past corrupt. It’s  _ inhumane. _ He moves to stand up, stumbles, drops his bag. 

“Hey, what was that?” 

_ God dammit Lance, why at a time like this-  _ he takes a breath.  _ Alright, play it cool. You’re just an innocent bystander. _

The door opens, and out comes purple skin. Glowing yellow eyes. 

“Hah hah. Hey boys! Don’t mind me, I’m just passing through.” He turns his head from left to right. A very impressive performance, he would say. “These halls are just  _ so  _ winding, amirite? Do you know where I can find a bathroom in this place?” 

He’s grabbed by the front of his shirt and dragged inside. 

Well. It was worth a try. 

\--

 

Shiro sits for a long time, motionless. It’s easy to avoid, this thing, through monitors and thick metal walls, the protective layer that keeps the out  _ out  _ and the in  _ in. _ Recently - well, he supposes it isn’t recent at this point - the great big galaxy around him has seemed less like a wonderful mystery and more like a battlefield. 

Earth. A million times over and it’s only the size of a medium star. 

Smaller, 196 countries. 

Smaller, 280,000 residents in his home town. 

Shiro has a family, a home, you know. It’s not like he keeps it secret. Just, when you’re a teenager, you’re not expected to have completely left the bird’s nest. But adulthood is different. People start to ask less about your mother’s cooking, your sister’s favorite subject in school. Whether you, too, are homesick. He’d been separated the longest out of any of them, and yet- well, he supposes they all just assumed he had the Garrison to come back to. Who, to say the least, didn’t exactly give him a warm welcome. 

It wasn’t military school that drove him on during his years as a prisoner. It wasn’t even finding the rest of his team, though he feels guilty about it. No, it was 280,000. An egg over steaming rice. Their unkempt garden in the back yard. Going fishing with his dad in the summer time. He longed for it so much, held onto the ache it brought him, kept it in his pocket wherever he went. 

That was, until one day, he didn’t. He wasn’t sure when it happened- maybe after he escaped from the Galra prisons, maybe when he became a paladin. His word association changed.  _ Home.  _

Eggs and rice became green goo. Back yard gardens became sleek castle walls. Fishing became group hugs, injokes, food fights. 

He looks out into the endless swirling sky. 

_ Home, huh?  _

.

“Amazing, isn’t it? I can never quite get used to it, myself.” 

An old woman, cane in hand, comes and sits down next to him. She looks tired, but content, deep wrinkles that slide down her face with ease and eyes that say things Shiro cannot understand. Her company catches him off guard, but it’s not unwelcome. 

“You’re not from here, are you?” she asks. 

“No,” he says, “I’m not.” 

“What do you know of Oypra’s history?” 

Shiro lets out a breath, fogging up the window’s glass. “Unfortunately, not much. My friend and I were only there for a few days.”

“I see,” she responds, nodding, “it’s an interesting place, this planet. Smaller than others, but with just as much heart. It was less than a generation ago that it became part of the Galra alliance. Back then, we hadn’t even considered space travel, can you imagine?” 

The word  _ alliance  _ rings off in his head. “Are you upset, then, that they forced their culture on you?” 

She smiles. “Forced is a strong word. Besides, why would we be upset? New technology, new ways of doing things we couldn’t do before. I was a young girl then, but suddenly all these opportunities opened up for me. I got to see things like this.” She gestures in front of her. 

Shiro is at a loss for words. He tries to think of a way to ask her how she’s okay with all this, how she doesn’t feel invaded by Zarkon and his culture of violence. 

The next words she says make him wonder if she read his mind. Who knows, she actually might have, the ability’s got to be out there somewhere. 

“Cultures are always evolving, people are always taking advantage of what they can. That doesn’t make some of us inherently bad, just adaptable.” 

“But so many people are being oppressed,” he argues, “their resources and future drained.” 

“And that shirt you’re wearing?” the woman says, “I’m sure that was made by someone less fortunate than yourself. The Galra aren’t the only ones feeding into this, you know.” She taps him on the foot with her cane. 

She’s right. She’s right, and it’s frightening. Shiro had been thinking this a long time, that perhaps the problem is more complicated than he thought. Than Allura made it out to be. 

“Hey, don’t look so down, love. You’re too young to think about this kind of thing. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to keep you busy- friends, lovers-” 

His attention shifts too quick. “Oh, no lovers.”

“Really? A handsome man like you? I bet you’re beating ‘em off with a stick.” 

“No, not me. I mean, there is one person… but. It’ll never happen. I don’t deserve him. Besides, I’m too old.”

.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-three.”

“How old is he?”

“Eighteen.”

“What a load of crap. In just a few years, you’ll practically be considered the same age. What’s the  _ real _ reason?” 

It hits him like a punch to the gut, that question. A stranger, and yet she saw right through him.

.

“I’m a mess.” He squeezes his hands together, feels his knuckles crack. “I’m a mess, dependant and unstable and so wanting. And he’s just so  _ kind,  _ so  _ loving,  _ I-” His voice cracks, barely audible. “-I don’t want to end up taking advantage of him just for my own emotional stability. I’m scared he’ll give and give and I’ll take and  _ take  _ until there’s nothing left.” 

A few moments pass before she speaks again. “This boy, he likes you, yes?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, listen. I have had a lot of lovers over the years, and from my experience, that’s never how it works. Love is about that mutual support, that give and take. It isn’t one-sided. I’m sure he has some skeletons in his closet too, you’ve just got to open it first.” 

\--

 

Lance gets slammed against the inside wall, a fist in his collar. He puts his hands up in surrender. 

“Now listen, gentlemen, this is really not what it looks li-” 

“Why were you snooping around outside? Don’t you know this area is off limits?”

Yikes. Lance tries to explain, but-

“What are you, a spy for the rebellion? The press? Isn’t that a bit of a risky move, scum? I could have you thrown in jail.” 

Jail is not good. Not good very bad. He’s gotta figure out how to get outta here. “Please, listen to me,” he starts, “I’m foreign, I can speak the tongue but can’t read the language. I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to be here, really.”

The Galra’s eyes narrow, suspicious. “How do I know you’re not lying.”

Lance coughs, tries to reach back and grab the ticket from his pocket, but the grip on his shirt grows tighter. “Don’t you try that shit with me. If there’s a weapon on you, I’ve got every right to take you out on the spot.” 

“It’s my boarding pass,” he chokes out, “proof I’m just a passenger. I went through security, no weapons, I swear.” 

His grip and expression don’t change as he reaches into the back pocket of the boy’s jeans. He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, holds it up. “Is this it?” 

Lance nods his head so vigorously he can almost feel the whiplash. The soldier hands it to his companion, who unfolds it and reads across the front. 

“Lance, huh? He’s a passenger, Sphen. Let him go.” 

Sphen scowls, but releases him from his grip. Lance gasps for air. He barely has time to think, to see if he can get a good look at the enslaved peoples behind them, before he’s cast back out into the hall. The Galra soldier who had read his name off the boarding pass follows, grabs him by the arm. 

“Let me escort you back to the guest area, since you’re clearly too dumb to figure it out on your own. Don’t want you coming back to ask for directions.” 

He starts to walk him down the hall, roughly, just until he hears the door shut behind them. And just like that, he lets go. 

“Sorry about that guy, he can be a bit of a hot head sometimes.”

Lance looks up, shaken. “Oh, uh, yeah. No problem. I totally get it.” 

“That’s good, I’m glad you understand. Confidentiality, and all that.” 

“Right, of course.” 

“Great. Then you also understand,  _ Lance Oslow,  _ what will happen to you if I hear about this on the news in the next couple of days?”

The air goes cold. The man smiles. 

“Absolutely. You won’t hear a peep from me.” 

They make it back out into the main hall, and the Galra gives him a pat on the back, turns to him. “Good then, enjoy the rest of your flight. This moon is a beauty, I hear.”

Lance watches him as he turns around, walks back in the direction they had come from. He waits until his giant form is out of sight, and like that, Lance is running. 

_ Shiro. _

_ I have to tell Shiro.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments give me life! Every single one makes me smile.   
> Again, thanks Berserkered for beta'ing, you're a doll.


	7. Soothing

It’s bumpy - the landing - rigid and spiraling and probably not at all safe for someone to be standing up. That doesn’t stop him though, Lance stumbles with shaky feet toward the front of the ship. He’s horrified, not sure if it’s due to the scene he listened in on or the one he experienced right after. He does know one thing though,  _ god  _ is he glad he wrote a fake name on that boarding pass, otherwise he’d really be in deep. 

Shiro is sitting alone, looking more relaxed than when he had left him earlier. He leans back against his seat, hands in pockets, head tilted towards his lap. Lance makes his way over as fast as he can, ignoring the dirty looks he gets from the shuttle staff, and the concerned ones he gets from the other passengers. He barely sits down, places a desperate hand on the man’s shoulder. 

He must look distressed, because as soon as Shiro looks up, his expression switches from thoughtfulness to concern. 

“Lance, are you okay? What’s wrong?” 

“I- I-” His voice finds a low whisper. “Shiro, I saw something. Bad. We’ve gotta take action now or it’ll be too late.” 

“What?” He scowls. “It isn’t Galra soldiers, is it? If they’re looking for us we have to be quiet about it.” 

“No, no it isn’t. Well yeah it actually  _ is  _ but it’s not like that. I saw something I wasn’t supposed to see. Fuck, I can’t believe it, like you always hear about these things in history books and news articles and stuff but I never actually  _ thought,  _ I would, first hand-” 

“Lance. What did you see.” 

The adrenaline is still there. He tries to let go of it, forces out a jittery breath.

“Prisoners. They were taken from their cells illegally, Shiro. They’re being transported to Galra fleets to be used for sex.” 

Shiro doesn’t respond for a little too long. 

“Well, aren’t you gonna say anything? We’ve gotta do something, we can’t just let this happen.”

More silence, before-

“Listen, Lance. I know you’re upset. It’s horrifying. But at this moment we don’t have our lions or our armor. We’ve got a mission right now and that’s to figure out how we can get back to the rest of the team.” 

.

“What? Are you saying we should just let them do this?” 

“Look at the bigger picture, Lance. Doing anything would put us at risk for being recognized. It’s unfortunate, I know, but we don’t have a choice.” 

Lance’s words become louder, involuntarily. “We  _ do  _ have a choice!”

Shiro winces. “Please, keep your voice down.” 

Shock. Betrayal, even. 

“I can’t believe that you of all people would try to talk me into silence.” 

Yeah, the landing is bumpy. 

\--

 

Anger, deep like motion through countless brackets of control. Settled on need, doubting optimism, it doesn’t shatter but it sure does fracture- the admiration, that is. Lance isn’t used to denial on such great a scale, had been so sure that Shiro would say yes, would help him with every ounce of care and worry that he had. It’s disturbing in a way that screams of cloudy morals, of personal convenience over the genuine wish to help. 

And the worst part is, hearing that “no” made Lance feel like  _ he  _ was being immature. Like  _ he  _ was the one in the wrong. Is belittling the right word? That sounds so purposeful, unfit. Maybe, infantilizing? 

Lance thinks about Hunk, how serious he was when he returned from the Balmera, desperate to help Shay, the Balmaran race, and the wonderful creature they inhabited. How it was only one planet, but he needed to do  _ something,  _ to make a mark. How Shiro had said  _ ‘okay,’  _ to that. 

Lance thinks about Pidge, how she planned to abandon the team in order to find her family. How it would have left them incomplete, unable to form Voltron. She was so certain of her priorities, even if that meant sacrificing the many for the sake of the few. How Shiro had said  _ ‘okay,’  _ to that. 

Is there something different about this? Is there something about  _ him  _ that makes his conviction seem less valid? Less important? 

Wow, maybe he really is immature. 

\--

 

The station on Oypra’s moon is smaller than the one on the planet itself. Closer to the atmosphere, too. As they pull in, Lance can see air friction lighting oxygen round the outside of the ship. And when they click into place, he can feel a thin layer of air slide between his body and the seat as gravity tries to stabilize. A tick, and it’s gone. 

There’s that voice through the PA again, calmly reciting a script of thanks. He wonders if the person it belongs to knows, doesn’t care, can still contribute with practiced ease. 

It’s pointless to argue, really. Once Shiro has made a decision, that decision is usually final. Allura chose him as leader for a reason, after all. It’s not like Lance to blatantly disobey his judgement, even if that judgement isn’t something he agrees with. 

They make their way up and out into the lobby of the station. It’s relatively empty, the only other passengers are the ones exiting the vehicle on either side. Shiro chooses to walk a few paces behind him, and Lance doesn’t know if it’s because he feel guilty, or what. Either way, it’s agitating- he can  _ feel  _ those eyes on his back. Something about the situation makes him not want to turn around and or say anything to the man at his back. Is this what it’s like to hold his ground? He feels like a pouting child. 

Transportation down to the surface is aided by something like an elevator. Every few seconds, an individual pod slips into view. A passenger enters, presses a button, and the pod seals off. It vanishes, shooting downward at a rapid pace. It was the same system by which they came up into the station before. Back then in hadn’t been so bad, save for popping ears. But this, now, is a different story. 

Lance gets in, pushes that button, and suddenly he is  _ literally falling  _ straight for the surface of the moon. It’s like one of those county fair rides, you know? The ones they created so that people could experience what it’s like to die?

His knees, to say the least, are a little weak when he makes it to the ground. 

But it’s soon countered because, holy shit. Is that? 

_ Snow.  _

Lance’s nose and hands are instantly pressed against cold glass. 

He registers the little ping behind him as Shiro follows suit, the footsteps that confirm his arrival. He chooses to ignore, too enthralled by the sight before him. 

Varadero was a wonderful place to live. Breathtaking beaches, tall trees, and the sweet humidity that made Lance feel at home. But you know what it didn’t have? Snow, that’s for sure. 

It’s at this that Lance thinks he might really be a very selfish person. Wishing he wasn’t so upset so that he could enjoy this experience more. God, it isn’t even  _ about  _ him- and yet somehow, it really actually is. The fluffy white in front of him is just another alter to an already sideways state of mind.

Shiro is beside him, now, taking in the view. Hands in pockets, breath forming a small cloud of fog in the air. Lance isn’t looking at him, isn’t thinking about how goddamn radiant he is against the cool glow. Despite his anger, despite his guilt and frustration and want, the boy still can’t deny his own attraction. 

_ For the love of god,  _ he tells himself,  _ stop being so indecisive.  _

With that, he takes a step back from the window, moves for the exit without saying a word. 

\--

 

Leader, according to Dictionary.com, is defined as a person or thing that leads. That’s it. No helpful tips, no moral implications, just that sweet, circular definition in all its glory. Shiro knows because he looked it up when that word was inching closer and closer to himself. Back then, he was excited- or should he say naive? He thought the task would be fun, bring a sense of dignity. 

That was before he learned the real definition. 

When the Kerberos mission failed, Shiro wasn’t ready to be a leader. He thought he was, sure, but his skills didn't go past giving proud smiles and gentle instructions. And it came down to something else, in the end. Something primal and last-minute that made him fear his every thought, worry that whatever decision he made would end up being a sacrifice. 

Attacking Matt, for instance. Taking his place in the arena. 

Well actually, that’s a bad example. Because in a hot second he would do it again. 

Shiro’s mind was all tangled up when Lance found him. He hadn’t caught the name of the old woman at his side, was too deeply invested in his own thoughts to even realise she had gotten up and left. He was completely stuck thinking about this  _ thing _ , about Galra and culture and what it means to be a leader. About love and distance and what it means to be a leader. The black paladin, the pushing force, the heart and the head. 

It was like the news Lance brought was there to toy with him, to ask the taunting question-  _ so what is it? Are the Galra evil or not?  _ And then,  _ how are you going to handle this? As a leader, or as a friend?  _

When you play at something long enough, eventually it will no longer be an act. 

Choosing not to save the prisoners was a sacrifice. Grabbed at Shiro’s moral compass and gave it a good yank. Lance’s response didn’t help. There’s no denying it anymore- Shiro follows each expression, each subtle movement in the boy’s body, and loses himself in it. He wants to give him everything he asks, wants to tell him he is  _ beautiful _ and  _ loved _ a million times over, and is thinking less and less that it’s a bad idea to go ahead and do it. 

He wonders if telling him “no” had just been an attempt to keep himself in check. If so, Shiro is convinced that he is really, genuinely the most selfish person in the universe. 

It’s snowing outside. Shiro likes snow.

But then again, he’s a leader. How are they going to keep warm in the thin layers they have? He turns to Lance to pose the question, but the boy is already out the door.

\--

 

Lance has got this nice little bomber jacket that he bought at the goodwill near his house. It’s cotton and polyester, with a very functional zipper and pockets for days. It’s fits him so well, perfect for almost any of his needs. You know what it isn’t, though?

Warm. 

It hadn’t really occurred to him that walking through snow in little more than underclothes, a sweatshirt, and sneakers would be a really bad idea, but only 15 minutes later and he’s already freezing to death. Like, who thought this was a good idea, below zero degree weather? He cups his hands around his mouth and blows, then rubs them together in attempt to create friction. It only provides momentary relief. 

The moon’s scenery is like something out of Narnia. Serpentine redwoods stretch gracefully toward the sky, cobblestone roads wind in every direction as they’re gently spattered with snow. It’s cold, but it’s also still, with only a delicate breeze here and there to disrupt the peace. They asked for directions from a passing stranger on the way out of the station, and discovered that the layout of the land was really very small, that most cities were within walking distance of each other. That visual comes into play now, and it’s almost disproportional- small cottages and roadside businesses are placed sporadically, only to be disrupted by foliage that rises right into the clouds. 

The two don’t really make conversation as they walk; the only sound exchanged between them is the crunch of old snow under untrained feet. Lance does notice it, however- the sideways glances, the worried looks. It’s hard not to, you know? When somebody clearly wants to break the tension but doesn’t know how. That had been him just a few days ago. 

Tucked into his jacket is a ratted scrap of paper. The edges have been torn from fidgeting, little bits ripped off when trying to avoid more obvious nervous quirks. It contains all the information they need, scribbled down with the dubious accuracy of Lance’s memory. He pulls it out and sighs. 

“Jesus.” What was he thinking? It’s about as clear as mud. 

He’s not really a planner, Lance. He appreciates a good plan, sure, but doesn’t mean he’s good at making them himself. In hindsight, jotting down names and places that he literally heard from a stranger at a fight club in the middle of the night  _ maybe  _ wasn’t a good idea. It’s unsettling, stupid, even. Because now here they are, freezing their asses off with nothing to show for it but some smudged up notes. 

_ Pale awnings,  _ scribble scribble scribble,  _ can’t miss it,  _ scribble scribble scribble.  _ Off the road, winding steps, only house with a- _

Wait. 

Lance looks up. Then down. Then up again, at a sight that rather perfectly fits the description in his hand. Only house with a boarded up door.  _ Because it’s not used,  _ his writing reads,  _ you have to go around the back.  _ Without warning, Lance jets off the road, making his way for the rear end of the run-down, snow covered shack. Feet move from the icy pavement to the real deep stuff, sticking with each step. And Lance, he doesn’t look back to see if Shiro is following, doesn’t even give him a little head nod or “come on” to make his intentions clear. 

It’s surprising- the front of the house is completely unkempt, covered in icicles and clustered weeds. But the back? It’s clearly been maintained, any snow that should be piling up has been shoveled out, and the panelled walls are holding together without the use of nail guns and plywood. Cement steps lead down to a basement door with nothing more than a sliding mailslot. No keyhole or doorknob, even. Alright. Lance grabs hold of the railing as he edges down, careful not to slip on the worn out soles of his shoes. Shiro doesn’t need prompting, he follows without saying a word. 

Then, like any sane, freezing person would, Lance knocks. He hopes this Altean expert has a heater and a good cup of space coffee to offer. They wait. 

No response. He knocks again, louder. 

Minutes go by, frigid air stinging red on cheeks and ears. Lance takes his hand out of his pocket one more time, ready to try again, when the hatch slides open. A pair of eyes are seen on the other side- squinting, suspicious. 

“Who are you, what do you want,” asks a scratchy voice. 

Lance realizes his fist is still up in mid-knock. “Hey, hi, yeah. We’re looking for someone who goes by the name of…” the crumpled word is barely legible. “... Ludovic? Does he live here?” 

“Maybe, depends who’s asking.” 

“I’m Lance, and this is Shiro. You see, we’re kind of, um, we need-” 

He’s interrupted by the man beside him. “We heard that there was someone here who was an expert on Altean technology, and we need help. Do you know anyone who fits that description?” 

“No. Go away.” The hatch slides shut. Hold up. What? For a moment Lance is dumbfounded, and when that disappears, he’s angry. He gets ready to bang and shout against the wood surface, but then it’s opened once again. “Wait, what did you say your names were?” 

“Lance and Shiro?” It comes out as a question, for some reason. 

“Lance and Shiro…” the voice echoes back. “And you’re looking for an expert on Altean technology, right. Right! Hold on, wait right there. I’ll be right back.” 

And it’s shut again. What the hell is this? Can’t he just let them in, for fuck’s sake? It’s  _ so cold.  _ He hears shouting from the other side of the door, and finally, it’s opened. 

On the other side is two figures. This, he was not expecting. 

“Is this them? The paladins?” a strange, furry fellow asks his companion. 

That companion is Shay. 

“Yes,” she smiles, “the skylings.” 

\--

 

Okay. So.

Lance is by no means walking on sunshine, but his mood improves about ten fold when he’s given a warm blanket and something hot and in a mug. He sips at it lovingly, looking across the table to Shay and her rude friend. The basement room is still a bit chilly, but now he’s a lot closer to feeling more like a human and less like a popsicle. 

Shiro takes a few large gulps of whatever’s in his cup, and sets it down in front of him. “What are you doing here, Shay? What happened to the Balmera?” 

She takes a gentle sip, then begins. “She is well, thanks to the silver haired queen. My people spent much time restoring what was left of her with new hope. They are forever filled with thankfulness. I left her with the freedom thrust upon me, and travelled till I knew what was my cause.” Her expression turns solemn. “So many are like us Balmarans, trapped underground, never with the choice breathe fresh air. You seven gave inspiration to my heart, I wanted to help fight the oppression, restore the tattered land. That’s when I met Luds.” 

_ Luds.  _ Hey, hold on here just a moment. 

“Wait,” Lance says, “Luds. As in, Ludovic? You’re our guy?” 

“Yup, that’s me.” 

“Altean tech expert?”

“Well, I do what I can. Isn’t much information on the stuff.” 

“So  _ why  _ didn’t you just let us in?” 

Luds laughs. “Yeah, sorry about that. You’ve got to be careful with these things. Chief would have had my ass if I just opened the gate for a couple of strangers. I don’t know about you, but your friend here definitely has the build to be trained as a Galra spy. No offense.” 

Shiro, again. “Spy? Why would they want to spy on you?” 

They’re interrupted by sound of high heels clicking down the hall, steadily getting closer with each confident step. The authority is present in the air before she even enters the room. And when she does, dear lord. Lance could melt into a puddle in this woman’s hands. Hugely built, probably more than six feet tall, with muscles on her muscles and a smile that screams charisma. A long thick braid falls all the way down to her ankles, which slides across the floor when she leans in to place her elbows on the table. 

“So, this is them, Shay? The defenders of the universe you were talking about?”

“Only two, Chief.” 

Lance is awestruck. Because, wow, what a woman. He would bare her children, if she asked. 

He moves in for the kill. “Well  _ hello.  _ My name’s Lance, eighteen years old,  _ single. _ ” 

She scoffs. “Boy, you couldn’t even if you tried.” 

Yeah, she’s probably right. 

She looks them up and down before turning back to Shay. “They don’t look very defensive to me. Hell, I could probably blow and the little one would fall right over.”

“Hey!”

“I’m not convinced they can do much damage.” 

Lance glances over at Shay, who is so clearly smitten with the woman. He wonders if he wears that same expression when he looks at Shiro. “These ones and others saved my life, my planet.” 

The woman sends a gentle smile her way. “Alright, love. Any friends of yours are friends of mine.” She turns back to Lance, and puts out a hand. “Nice to meet you, flirt. I’m not a fan of my real name, so you can just call me Chief.” Her hand dwarfs his when he shakes it. She looks behind him. “And who are you?” 

“Shiro, pleasure.” 

She pulls back, goes to pour herself a cup off the stove before finding a seat beside Shay. The five sit and talk for a long time. Lance explains why they’re not with the rest of their team, how the wormhole separated everyone and left their lions busted. When they tell Luds that they were hoping he could do something to fix them, he clicks his tongue. 

“Nope, sorry, I may know a lot but fixing an entire ship is a different story. And  _ two,  _ I mean. Glad you think so much of me but that’s rearing on impossible.” 

Lance sinks into his blanket. “Shit, what are we going to do?” 

“But,” Luds says, “if your friends work by way of a Balmaran crystal, I can probably get you in touch with them.” 

“How long do you think that’ll take?” Shiro asks. 

“Oh, probably not too long. I can get started right away, if one of you is willing to help me.” 

Shiro volunteers, and Lance is glad because he doesn’t want to move from his bundle of warmth. Maybe this way, too, he can cool his jets a little. The betrayal hasn’t worn off, and every second he spends in his companion’s presence is one where he can’t think straight. It’s a weird combination, to feel angry at someone who’s in the wrong, but feel guilty about it nonetheless. He watches as the two get up and make way for the hall.

“You two don’t seem very friendly, for teammates.” 

Lance looks up. “Huh? Oh. No we are, just.” He takes a sip of his drink. “I don’t know, I guess we’re a little out of sync right now.” 

“Was it a fight that you two had?” Shay asks. 

Was it? Lance isn’t really sure what to call their interaction. It was too one-sided to be a fight. A disagreement, maybe? A clash in opinion? 

Lance is stubborn. He may complain a lot, he may act silly or weak to get attention, but he’s  _ not _ someone who just gives up upon being told the word no. Is it righteousness? It’s hard to say. 

But hearing that no from Shiro, that’s a different story. If  _ he  _ isn’t standing up for those who suffer under Zarkon’t rule, who  _ is?  _ Shiro, the go-getter, the savior of the people, the _ hero- _

He’s doing it again. Idolizing. 

But who he supposed to look up to as a moral guide if the one man he believes in strays from everything he knows? 

Everything he  _ thinks  _ he knows? 

“Yeah, I’m not really sure.” 

Chief leans over onto the table, looks him in the eye. “That’s it. You love him, don’t you?” 

.

“Haha- what? Hahaha.” Lance can see his reflection, warped as he swirls the drink around in his mug. “What?” A whisper. 

“Why don’t you just tell him?” 

Lance drops the facade, sighs. It blows a waft of steam out of the cup and into his face. 

“I did.” 

“And?” 

“Good question.” 

An ‘o’ forms on Shay’s lips. 

“That’s not why we’re not talking though. We’re adults, okay? It’s because- well, because I saw something I shouldn’t have.” 

“What was it that you saw?” 

Lance gulps. “On the shuttle over here, I got lost. I ended up wandering down some hall in the middle of god know’s where, and came across two Galra soldiers illegally transporting prisoners to fleets for prostitution. I wanted to do something about it, but Shiro said it was too risky, that we shouldn't do  _ anything  _ to help them.” 

For a moment, Chief looks pensive. Then she says “you’re an idiot.”

Wait. “Excuse me?”

“Have you ever been a leader before?” 

“Well, no, not really, but-” 

“Of course you wouldn’t understand then.  You probably didn’t have any weapons on you. No armor, hell, barely any _clothes_ from what I can tell.” She gestures at him. “Did you ever stop and think about _his_ position? Of course he’s not going to force the one he loves into a situation where he could get killed, especially if it’s something you could come back to later when you’re more prepared.” 

She’s got a point. Hunk didn’t just rush in with only Coran and a tiny battleship to try and save an entire race. If Lance had been less hot headed about it, they could have used the time spent was pouting to actually come up with a plan. God, his temperamental attitude was really what ruined everything, he’s so childish, so-

Hold on. “The one he loves?” 

Chief looks exasperated, “Have you  _ seen  _ the way he looks at you?” Shay nods along. 

That can’t be. Lance shakes his head, blushing furiously. “No, trust me, he made it very clear that he wasn’t interested.” 

“That, or you’re just gullible.” 

\--

 

Shiro learns that the building is actually huge. Sure, the outside is nothing more than a beat up shack, but what it doesn’t show in height it certainly makes up for in depth. The place is like an underground palace, with countless rooms and halls leading every which way. And that’s not all- Luds, Shay, and Chief aren’t the only ones who live here. Since going down an elevator and out into a whole new floor, they’ve passed enough people for Shiro to lose count. 

Luds is going on about something, but Shiro is too perplexed to listen. 

“-Yeah, so the soil of this moon is super soft, if you make it past the snow. No one really goes for the underground approach since they’re too afraid of the stuff collapsing in on them. I had the genius idea of building it slowly as we dug, that way the metal walls keep the whole thing upright. And the best part? No one suspects a thing.” 

.

“So why exactly are you hiding in the first place?” 

.

“Wait, that wasn’t obvious? Voltron isn’t the only thing around fighting the Galra empire, buddy.” He opens a door into a vast warehouse, flooded with aliens from every end of the galaxy. 

Shiro stops in his tracks. 

“Welcome to the rebellion.”

\--

 

“We’ve been following that case, by the way.”

Lance takes his eyes off his third cup of the night. He really has to pee, actually, but then all the effort he put into his Bundle of Warmth™  would be in vain. “What do you mean?” 

“Folks disappearing from prisons. A suspicious rise in profits in the black market, forced prostitution. If you want to get involved, we would love the help.” 

Before Lance has the chance to ask how they’re involved in the first place, Shiro comes rushing through the door. He’s huffing as if he just ran a mile, but his smile is giddy.

“Contact! We’ve got contact!” 

Lance shoots up in his chair, screw the warmth. They’re  _ okay _ , they’re okay and they’re going to be reunited soon. He’s hugging Shiro before he knows it. The man seems paralysed under his touch, but he doesn’t care. And then he’s off again, sprinting down the hall as if he knows which way he’s supposed to be going. 

“Well? Are you coming?”

Shiro stands there. Blinks. “Oh, yes, right, I am.”

He follows after him.

\--

 

_ “I’m so glad to see you two are okay,”  _ Allura says over the com,  _ “I mean, I knew Shiro would be fine, but I figured Lance would have gotten you in trouble at some point down the line.”  _

“You’re gonna have to try harder than that to offend me, princess, I’m way too happy to see you to take insult to anything you say.” 

“Yeah, me too,” Shiro chimes in. 

_ “Hey, is that Lance?”  _

“Hunk!? Oh my god, Hunk, is that you?” 

_ “Lance!”  _ He watches as the doofus literally starts balling on the spot. Oh wait, but. So is he. 

_ “Man it’s so good to see you, buddy. Keith has noone to direct his pent up anger out at and so he’s blaming the food. That’s his nourishment, man! What did it ever do to him?” _

.

“Okay, so now I’m offended.”

“So Keith is alright,” Shiro digests, “What about Pidge, and Coran?”

_ “Just fine. Though Pidge was in a dangerous state when we found her, she’s alright now.”  _

_ “Hey, are you guys talking about me behind my back?”  _ Pidge comes onto the screen. She gasps when she sees them.  _ “You’re okay! You have no idea how worried I was about you nerds.”  _

“Right back at’cha, friend! Shiro’s great and all, but I need someone around to remind me of my superior height once in awhile.” 

_ “I will fight you and you will lose.”  _

“Do you know when we’ll be able to join you guys again?” Shiro asks. 

_ “This time I think I can actually get a hook on your location, but ever since the wormhole was disrupted I haven’t been able to get it to work properly. It should take us about a half a day to reach you.” _

“Alright.” He turns to Luds. “Would it be too much trouble for us to stay here for the night?” 

“Shouldn’t be an issue, right Chief?”

She puts her hands on her hips. “You boys better not cause any trouble.” 

\--

 

Lance gets his own room, for once. It’s nice, comfortably warm, with a large enough bed for him to spread out beached-whale style. He collapses into it, closes his eyes in preparation for sweet, sweet slumber, when. 

There’s a knock at his door. 

“Hey Lance, are you awake? We need to talk.”

It’s Shiro’s voice. On the other side of the door, that is. 

In case you hadn’t guessed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chief knows what's up.


	8. Bereft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry in advance.

Underground, the air isn’t recycled, not like the ever-circulating stuff on the castle mid-flight. It smells like earth, cold wet soil that induces the strangest of nostalgias. Lance sits up in his bed, rolls over to the side and swings his feet off over the edge. Flat palms go up to push against closed eyes, rubbing away the exhaustion. He yawns.

“Yeah, I am. Come on in.”

The door creaks open and in walks Shiro, changed into a fresh pair of clothes and set with vaguely cautious look upon his face. It’s dark, though- Lance had just turned off the buzzing lightbulb fixed to the ceiling. His eyes are still adjusting.

“Sorry, were you sleeping?” Shiro asks as the door clicks behind him.

“Ah, no, not really. What’s up?”

His blurry figure shifts to lean against the wall, hands moving behind his tailbone. It reads uncomfortable, out of place. Lance knows that body language. Holds it dear to his heart. But why would someone who radiates such intensity try to shrink away?

Shiro opens his mouth, then closes it. Sighs. A hand comes up to comb through his bangs.

“You were mad at me, right? Before I mean, on the shuttle.”

Lance doesn’t think the question needs answering, but he does anyways. “Yeah, I was.”

“But now you aren’t mad at me anymore?”

“No, I’m not.”

.

“Why is that? Did something happen? I hadn’t really even gotten the chance to apologize yet, and you just went and-”

“Shiro.”

“Yes?”

What is he supposed to say?

“I-” he tries, “I guess I just had time to think it over. You were right, we were underprepared and without a plan, it would have been stupid to just rush in there.”

“It would have been.” He walks over and sits down, turns to look at him. Sincere. “But still. I’m sorry.”

There’s that intensity, making Lance feel like a deer caught in headlights. “Thank you,” he responds, unsure why the apology evoked that reaction. _It’s okay_ or, _I accept your apology_ just didn’t really seem to fit. He thinks about placing a hand on Shiro’s knee, or leaning in to give him a gentle head butt, a physical marker of affection and forgiveness. He doesn’t, though.

“I know I’m a bad leader, but-”

Hold on a second. No, no no no, _this_ Lance will not put up with.

“Fuck you man, no you’re not. Jeez, without you, the whole damn team would be completely lost. And if they’ve neglected appreciating you for it to the point where you actually think you’re _bad,_ screw ‘em. I’ll make up for the lot of it.”

Shiro looks surprised. Lance speaks up.

“You’re great.”

.

“What?”

“Did I stutter?” You. Are. Great. You’re great you’re great you’re great. Everyone likes you and thinks you’re great and I think you’re great and-”

“ _Okay Lance I get it.”_ The man is blushing. Hard. After a moment, he breaks out into a rumbling laugh, joy and relief and tenderness all at once. When it dies down, Shiro is open wide. He rests his forehead against Lance’s shoulder, still shaking from his heart reverberating in his throat.

“Thanks. I needed that.”

Lance notices something else about the underground. It’s not silent like space, or noisy like the wind and bustle of life. The sounds are still there, sure, they’re just _muted._ It’s like the whole world has been put on pause.

They stay like that for a minute, or an hour, it’s unclear. Happy isn’t the word to describe it, neither is content, really. But maybe, comfortable? Familiar? Lance isn’t sure when it began, but the guarded wall around Shiro’s heart has slowly started to fade. He’s glad about this, secretly- feels like he’s been entrusted with something precious and delicate and undisguised.

The head on his shoulder finally moves away, and their eyes lock once again.

“So,” he begins, “there’s actually kind of another reason I came in here, I just wanted to make sure you weren’t mad at me before I suggested it.” Shiro treads carefully with his words, as to not fill them with too much implication. It doesn’t work though, Lance’s pulse speeds up. He leans in closer.

“Yeah, what is it?”

“Maybe I shouldn’t.”

“No really,” he urges, “I don’t mind. Go ahead, tell me.”

“Well,” Shiro scratches his head. “I don’t know if you’re interested-”

_-Oh my god here it is-_

“-It’s childish, really, I just. Um-”

_-Wait I’m not prepared for this, it’s all so fast-_

“Do you wanna go play in the snow?”

.

 _Huh?_ The boy is dumbfounded.

Shiro quickly backpedals. “Oh, nevermind. It’s late, you’re probably tired, forget I said anything.”

Wait. Hold up. _No,_ he is not getting out of this. Lance grips his arm, looks him dead in the eyes.

“Dude. Fuck yeah I do.”

Shiro’s smile is surprised, then delighted, then mischievous.

\--

 

Giggled hushes and useless tiptoes make their way down the hall, in a full sprung stream of guileless play. They trip over each other’s feet, send sideways glances and charmed smirks, laugh hard enough to break the definition of a whisper. It’s completely immature and careless and whimsical, and Lance?

He just drowns in it.

“Ow, you stepped on my foot!”

“Sorry.”

Followed by

“Is this stick big enough?”

“No we need one that’ll really prop open the door.”

Followed by

“ _Jesus_ it’s cold out here.”

“Woohoo!”

Followed by

“Hey- Shiro wait up!”

Lance feels like he’s fifteen again, just learned that the Garrison patrol is easy to sneak past and that the city is filled with hot girls. He follows his companion up and around to the front of the house, where there’s no cover from the sky. Little white flakes meander towards the ground, accumulating to create a new layer of snow which looks soft enough to be a cloud. Lance draws a smiley face in it with his finger. Shiro is already working on the beginnings of a solid ball, or maybe a head, or-

Then, in a moment of pure inspiration and genius, Lance opens his mouth.

“Hey, Shiro.”

He looks up from his project. “Yeah?”

“ _Do you wanna build a snowman?”_

“What?”

“ _Come on let’s go and plaaaaaay!”_

“Oh- _oh no,_ Lance don’t do this to me-”

“ _I never see you anymore,”_

“Stop, please-”

“ _Come out the door,”_

“Last warning cadet, don’t make me resort to violent measures.”

“ _It’s like you’ve gone aWAAAAAAAAY!”_

_Bam._

The snowball hits him right at the top of his chest, hard and icy, stinging as it begins to drip down his shirt.

“Oh no you didn’t.”

Shiro shrugs. “Hey, you brought this upon yourself.”

“Oh it’s _on._ Somebody hold my earrings.”

Lance grabs at the ground with a purpose, forming a solid chunk between his hands. He throws back, but Shiro dodges. So, he builds another. And another, and another, and another till he finally hits the man smack in the face. From there on out it’s _war,_ snow walls and fortresses, strategically shaped wads of crushed ice for the least effort and greatest gain. Crappy accents to mimic the drama of old westerns and swashbucklers. Too many lyrics sung from Frozen, and here’s the thing: Lance isn’t even the one to sing them all.

The defenders of the universe, two grown-ass men, running around like a couple of kids on a snow day. It’s majestic.

“Hey, who’s there?” A voice sounds from the house next door. A porchlight turns on.

Lance grabs Shiro’s hand, shoots him a huge grin that’s mirrored instantly. “Run!”

Those hands stay squeezed together, all the way back inside, all the way back to his room.

The two sit back where they were before, at the edge of Lance’s bed. But this time, it’s in a different context. Fingers interlaced, chests heaving, faces red- the unadulterated joy fills the room, makes the air seem somehow lighter. He literally can’t stop smiling - he tried - his jaw is even sore from it.

He nudges Shiro with the side of his body. Shiro nudges back, harder. Then he gives the guy a little shove, which too, is returned with greater force.

_Alright._

Lance all but throws his body at the man’s shoulder, and looks on in pride as he falls down onto the bed. But.

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit-_

He doesn’t actually know how much Shiro weighs or anything, but it’s gotta be at least twice his own body mass. The shoulder that slams into him is as thick as his _leg._ Not only does Lance fall, he rolls completely of the bed.

Nuh uh, that doesn’t deter this little fighter though. Springing up from his spot on the floor, Lance goes in for the kill. Jabbing fingers reach for delicate skin.

“So, Shiro. Are you ticklish?”

For a second, the man’s eyes go wide, and then he makes a leap for the door, cementing his elbows to his sides in desperate protection.

“Oh my god you are, aren’t you? Oh, this is gonna be good.”

He bounds after him, fingertips on alert, soggy clothes left ignored as he chases the man around the room. Shiro puts up a decent fight for a while, but Lance has _siblings,_ he is the almighty tickle _king._ No one can help but fear him in all his glory.

Shiro’s butt hits the side of the mattress, and he uses his feet to scoot back at a rapid pace. His efforts are in vain, however, because the next minute Lance is _on_ him. Gangly legs straddle the ill-fated figure, and talented hands send hopeless giggles throughout the room. Shiro tries to push at his chest, tries to grab at his wrists, but the boy is too fast.

“Do you surrender?” he challenges with taunting glee.

“Never!” A voice cries out.

It happens fast, weight shifts and the air is knocked out of his lungs. And suddenly, Lance is on his back. The attacked becomes the attacker, pinning hands above head and scratching full force at the boy’s sensitive ribcage. Lance squirms left and right, kicks, laughs until his head hurts and smiles until his jaw can no longer hold the position.

“Alright, I give I give I give I give!” It’s a mix between a cough and a squeal. The hand on his side goes flat.

“Do you admit that I’m the victor?”

“Yes.” The hand is removed. “At knowing the most Frozen songs.”

And he’s being tickled again.

“Okay okay okay! You win! You’re the victor! Are you happy?”

Shiro grins. “Very.”

Lance watches that grin, those perfect teeth. Suddenly he realizes the position they’re in. Shiro sits heavy on his hips, one hand keeping his wrists pinned tightly to the bed while the other rests just below his nipple. Their faces are not but a foot away- if Shiro leaned in any more, Lance would be able to feel those silver bangs caress his face. The smile lasts only a second, before it vanishes to give way for licked lips.

Lance realizes he’s staring. He tries to look elsewhere, and.

It doesn’t help. All he finds is blown pupils, a bobbing adam's apple, a look of hunger.

This time, he decides not to talk. Doesn’t ask “what is this,” in fear of shattering the moment into a million little pieces. Not again. Instead, he tilts his chin in, tries to clearly state his willingness through body language alone. _Take the bait, Shiro._

Noses touch. Breaths fall in and out. Lips graze against lips.

But Shiro, he doesn’t bite. In a flurry of red cheeks and broken intensity, he pulls back and quickly climbs off of Lance’s lap. He stumbles over himself as he tries to stand up, clumsy and awkward.

“I, Uh. I should probably go. It’s pretty late.”

Lance sits up, heart still rattling in his chest. He sighs. “Right, of course you should.”

“It was fun,” Shiro tries, “goodnight, Lance.”

“Yeah. Night.”

The teen doesn’t move from his spot as he listens to the door open and shut. The footsteps disappear down the hall, and once again, all is still. He falls back against the mattress, presses his cold palm hard against his face.

Lance groans. It echoes, sounds just like frustration if you listen hard enough.

.

“Why does this keep happening?”

\--

 

Shiro is 23 years old, went to boarding school for almost all of his formative years. It’s not like he hasn’t had lovers, hasn’t experienced late night kisses and desperate aches, it’s just. Before the Kerberos mission, it felt like he was always in control, always had a handle on his life in one way or another. He was that guy who just kind of had their shit together, never a hair out of place, yet still remained approachable and friendly. It’s something Shiro knew, and tried not to flaunt too often. But really, it gave him a strange sense of fulfillment, kept him going from one day to the next.

It manifested itself in his romances, too. He was the perfect boyfriend, buying flowers and opening doors and planning dates- except, he wasn’t. Many partners cut off ties with him, saying he was “too nice” or “didn’t let himself go enough.” Shiro didn’t think of it as a problem, really. It was pleasant when people arrived in his life, but when they left, it wasn’t that big of a deal. _They’re people,_ he would think, _their experiences are just as valid and important as mine. If this part of their life is over, so be it._ That’s what they say, after all. If you love someone, you have to be willing to let them go.

What a load of crap.

So here’s this boy, right- who’s obnoxious, and complains a lot, and doesn’t really understand physical boundaries. Who likes Beyonce to the point where it’s creepy and swears enough to be a sailor. Who can dance like a firecracker, hips moving left and right like silk floating on air. Who is kind, and gentle, and can find goodness in everyone, even if they’re broken. Who is willing to fight for what he believes in, even if that means sacrificing everything he has.

How is Shiro supposed to let go of that?

He could have sworn he had been in love before, but then again, had he? The urgency, the lust, the yearning.

Maybe he hadn’t. Because right now, he swears that he wants Lance, all of Lance, so bad it _hurts._

Shiro’s room is empty. Alone, he discards his thick outer layers and flops down onto the bed. Everything is pitch black, no windows to let in even the shine of the sky and stars. You know how when you can’t see, somehow the images in your head become more vivid? It’s almost shocking, how sharp his memory is right now. It starts with comfort, the feeling of that bony shoulder against his forehead. Then of play, of rosy cheeks and ears, of turning into puddy every time he saw that smile.

Of hot breath, of that long neck and curved jaw, of having the switch turned so quickly he could barely keep up with his own need.

With his previous sweethearts, Shiro was polite. Would never pressure them into anything they didn’t want to do, would never even allow his blood to rush south unless his partner explicitly stated their interest. That was, before Lance was pinned under him, needy, tilting his head in attempt to close the distance. It was embarrassing, how easily he became erect. What was he, fourteen?

He fled the room as fast as he could, of course. It scared him, not even being able to maintain control within his own body. It’s not like he didn’t know that the boy wanted it - Lance had made that very, _very_ clear - it’s just. He wasn’t going to go and physically break all boundaries without explaining himself first. He had done that once already, and Lance didn’t deserve to have it happen again.

Even if it meant he would have gotten to see the boy in all his glory, writhing and squirming and grasping at the sheets as he ate him whole.

_Oh, I’m still-_

Shiro sticks a hand down his pants.

The tips of his fingers are cold at first, but quickly warm up when he presses them against the inside of his thigh. First, it’s delicate skin, imagining the way it would bruise after just a bit of sucking, leaving marks that would stay for days and show the world that he’s been taken care of. Then, it’s gentle cries, whines, lips that can barely form words other than “Shiro,” and “please.” Or maybe he would be more vocal than that, cursing nonstop and urging for Shiro to kiss him harder, touch him more. He curls his hand around his length, thumb brushing over the tip, and lets out a stifled moan as his head falls back into the sheets.

Would Lance be submissive? No, he isn’t like that, would probably take an active role in trying to please Shiro, tease him, pounce on his neck and stomach and thighs with delighted enthusiasm, would let out happy sounds as he sucked his cock. He squeezes at the base, picturing what it would be like to have that mouth on him, careful teeth and soft lips. He almost caughs at the image of that head bobbing up and down in the dark.

Lance would definitely try and straddle him, take that dominant role and stick with it. But he wouldn’t let him- just like their tickle fight earlier, he would flip him onto his back. Stick his tongue down his throat. Scratch down his chest, past his navel, jerk him in his hands until the the boy couldn’t do anything but cling and whimper. He starts rubbing faster, harder, at an uneven pace that leaves him barely able to breathe.

 _God,_ and when he had him begging for it, he would thrust in. Over, and over, and _over._ The next day, Lance wouldn’t even be able to walk straight, he’s sure. The boy would reach his limit so fast, scratch red lines in Shiro’s back and repeat his name like a mantra as he came. Flushed, barely able to to keep his eyes open, hot and clinging and squeezing down on him so hard it would almost hurt.

The room is silent. Shiro clenches his jaw as seed spills out into his palm.

.

See? There’s that loss of control again.

It takes more than a couple minutes to come down from his high. But when he does, it hits him hard- the smell, the sticky mess that trickles down his thighs, the shame. He gets up and makes his way to the bathroom, wetting a towel and cleaning off the semen. Once clean, he crawls back under the blankets, curls up into a ball. If you asked him, he would swear it was to keep warm, but really, he just wants to make himself small.

He’s confused, or.

Entangled, or.

Determined, or.

Maybe he’s just tired.

 _Tomorrow,_ Shiro thinks, _I’ll deal with it tomorrow._

_Because things can’t go on like this._

\--

 

The little jet creates a cloud of snow as it lowers itself onto the ground. Sky blue and creamy white, colors Lance didn’t know he’d been missing until they appear before his eyes. Engines roar for a moment longer as mechanical legs slide out to hold the thing in place. Allura and company had arrived early that morning, but had decided that landing a giant castle on a tiny moon might attract unwanted attention.

Lance has the most horrific bags under his eyes. Why? Well, that’s what happens when your only rest is intermittent sleep for little more than four hours. Most of the night was either spent excitedly waiting to see the rest of the team, or anxiously trying to decipher just what the hell Shiro’s intentions were. And now, it’s ruining the reputation of his flawless skin. Shame.

Hunk and Coran step out of the vehicle. All thoughts about his baggy eyes are lost as he goes barreling toward his friend.

“HUNK!”

“LANCE!”

 _Slam._ Those comforting arms are around him in a hot second, and it’s wonderful.

“Dude, dude you’re crushing me.”

“I know, and you just love it, don’t you?”

“Yeeeeeeeeessssss.” He hugs back.

In his peripheral vision, he can see Coran give Shiro a welcoming pat on the on the shoulder, followed by a quick “It’s good to see you healthy.” When he finally lets go of Hunk, the other two are already loading into the jet. Seeing them off is Chief, Luds, and-

Oh yeah.

“Hi Shay.”

“Hello, Hunk.”

They stand facing each other in silence. Seconds pass, minutes; Lance looks back and forth between them. Chief appears to be doing the same thing, eyebrows tilted up in confusion. It takes all too long for the tension to break, but when it does, Hunk runs and scoops her up in his arms, a delighted smile on his face.

“It is so good to see you, I can’t, I can’t even-” His voice shakes.

“Yes, me too,” she says.  

Chief leaves then, goes back around the house, and Luds follows after her. Lance realizes he’s invading in on something private, and turns to get inside the ship. When he enters, he sees Coran at the pilot’s seat, feet up on the dash as he twiddles his moustache between two fingers. Shiro sits beside him, head tilted against the backrest, eyes closed. The Altean turns to see that only one passenger out of two has loaded into the back. “Where’s Hunk?” he asks.

“He and Shay are having a moment, let’s not disturb them.”

When Hunk finally does appear, the kid looks like he’s been sent through a virtual whirlwind. His face reads lonely, worried, proud. He buckles himself into place, adjusts his vest, then goes to lean his head on Lance’s shoulder.

“Alright, I’m ready. Let’s go.”

\--

 

They’re halfway across the universe when the com comes in. The paladins sit in a circle on the floor of the control room, listening as Lance animatedly recounts the story of waking on a jungle island, blending in with the Galra, and badass-ly defeating an alien in the rink at an underground fight club. Keith snorts at that.

“No way that happened.”

“If you don’t want to believe me, that’s your loss. I was totally cool, right Shiro?”

The man shrugs. “You were okay.”

“ _Wow.”_ Everyone laughs.

They’re interrupted when Luds’ face appears on the viewing window. “ _Hey, guys, I’ve got some bad news._ ” His look of concern of projected on the giant screen. They all stand up to get closer, and Allura speaks first. “What is it?”

“ _Well, you see, we’ve been following this case recently. Not all planets taken over by the Galra show the same signs. For a while now, my group and I have been compiling a list of satellite planets, mostly uninhabited, that are often visited by spies that work for the empire. You said you crashed somewhere uninhabited, didn’t you? Did you catch it’s name?_ ”

“No,” Shiro responds, “but Coran was trying to find it based on our description of the terrain. Would that help you at all?”

“ _Worth a try. Shoot.”_

Lance chimes in. “I saw more of it than Shiro did. It was tropical, with huge trees that stretched up and blocked out the light. Like 80% of the air was made up of water vapor, too. _Super_ humid.”

“ _You know? That sounds familiar. Just let me…”_ The sound of typing rattles over the ship’s speakers. _“Yup, here it is. 02-7G. Largest air-to-water ratio in this sector of the galaxy. Wow, you should not have been breathing that._ ”

“Alright, that’s great and all, but what about the list? Is it on there?”

“ _Yeah, looks like you’re out of luck. Is often frequented by bounty hunters, too. Did you run into anyone suspicious while you were there?_ ”

Oh no.

Lance and Shiro turn to each other, and at the same time-

“Ter.”

“Who’s Ter?” Pidge asks.

“We hitched a ride with him when it didn’t look like we’d be surviving there for too long, he said he would drop us off somewhere with a population. Do you think…?” Shiro starts.

“Who’da thunk our little robotic friend would actually be a little robotic foe.”

Allura scowls. “Lance, not the time. Luds, would you be willing to send me the coordinates so we can check to see if the lions have been taken?”

\--

 

Lance knows it’s not the time, knows that all his jokes are nothing but an interruption. The truth is, it’s a cover up. Because it was Lance’s idea to take the guy up on his offer, to trust him. And now it’s left them in a shit situation. If only he hadn’t- if only he’d been more cautious, like Shiro. Or if he was wise, like Allura. Really if he had _any_ good attributes to help the team along, that would be nice. Because maybe if he _did,_ everyone else wouldn’t have to suffer so many repercussions.

Coran sources the coordinates of the planet and aligns them with the location tracker for Blue and Black. They don’t match up.  
“What are we going to do?” Allura puts her face in her hands.

 _This is bad,_ Lance thinks, _really, really bad._ The jovial attitude from before turns dark, as the question of how to handle this hangs over them.

If only there was something he could do, a plan that he could come up with, a brilliant piece of input that would solve everything and set them back on track.

Wait.

“I have an idea, but you guys aren’t gonna like it.”

They all turn to him, surprised. It’s weird, getting attention in a serious context like this. He tries to figure out how to phrase his explanation without it sounding like the dumbest plan that anyone’s ever heard.

“So, me and Shiro rode this shuttle at one point, right? And when I was on there, I stumbled across this group of prisoners being transported between fleets as sex slaves. Maybe, if a few of us can sneak in from the inside, then-”

“Absolutely not.” It’s Shiro’s voice. “Too risky.”

“Oh, okay, I thought so, I just thought I’d pose it and-”

“Wait,” Allura says, “Lance might be onto something here. You two said your lions weren’t functioning after the crash, correct? There’s no way we can lead a full frontal attack and have time for the ritual that will bring their energies back.”

“Ritual?”

“Yes indeed,” Coran explains, “the lions live off the mutual energy shared with their paladin, you see. Think of it like a flame that needs to be maintained. You can keep it going, but only certain Altean practices can light it again. Allura’s the only one who can do it.”

“Which is why your idea might be our best bet, Lance. This way we can go in undercover and fix the your lions without being suspected.”

A voice speaks up through the com. It’s not Luds this time, but rather, Chief. “ _I have someone on the inside who can help you find the right location. His name is Thace. Problem is, Galra security is pretty tight, I’m not sure how we’re going to break through it._ ”

“Oh please,” Pidge says, “piece of cake.”

Luds lights up. “ _I don’t know who you are kid, but cake? You must have some genius skills. I’ll help in any way I can._ ”

“Once I start to heal the lions, it will be dangerous if I’m interrupted half way. I’ll need someone to go with me as cover while I’m in the trance. I can alter my race so that they don’t recognize me, but Shiro and Keith are both perceived targets of Zarkon.”

“I’ll go,” Lance says.

Shiro turns his head. “What?”

“I said I can go. There isn’t anyone else who can do it. You and Keith will be spotted in a second. And no offense to Coran, but he isn’t really prostitute material.”

“None taken.”

Shiro looks ready to argue, but Keith speaks up before he can get a word in. “Shiro and I can provide backup should anything go wrong. Once Allura is finished with the lions, we can make our way to Black. Sound good, Shiro?”

A few weeks of living with him and Lance can tell when the man is trying to hide his emotions. This time, it’s discomfort. He thinks of how Chief had said it was obvious that he wouldn’t want to send _the one he loves_ into a dangerous situation. Wonders if that’s really what’s going on here.

“I guess we have no choice.”

\--

 

Out the sliding entryway, down the hall, right at the airlock, and two doors to the left. Lance used to get lost in the castle, but now the route to his room is memorized. When he goes inside, it’s like coming home. His bed, his face mask and dirty laundry that he left piled around the floor, his weird knick knacks that he had collected on their travels through space- it’s all here. And for the love of all things holy, his bathroom? It has a normal shower. The first thing he does is strip off his clothes and scrub down, turning the heat up so high it makes his skin tingle and flush as his muscles relax.

For a few minutes, he’s able to just forget about everything, focus on the water streaming down his body, the soft towel as he rubs dry. He’s going straight to sleep, he needs that shit.

But when he opens the door to his room, he finds that he’s not alone.

“Hi,” Shiro says.

.

Boy is he glad he put on a bathrobe before walking out.

\--

 

“Yo,” he responds, “did you need something?”

Shiro looks to the side, avoiding eye contact as he takes a few steps closer. “No, it’s just. I, ah- how do I put this.” He reaches into his pocket. “I brought you something.”

“A gift? For me? Oh Shiro, you shouldn’t have.”

“Hey now,” he smiles, looks Lance in the eyes, finally. “You don’t get to keep it. But I want you to hold onto it, at least until we get through this mission. Now put out your hand.”

The teen does as he says, watching as Shiro places something small and light into his palm.

Huh?

“A pink barrett?” Lance questions.

“A good luck charm. It was my sister’s.”

“Since when did you have a sister?”

“Since… Let’s see… 1998? She should be eighteen now, the same age as you.”

“Is she hot?”

Shiro punches him in the arm. “Don’t make me take it back.”

“Sorry, sorry.” Lance closes his fingers around the small piece of plastic. Something so precious, and yet, Shiro would- to him? It must be. It’s gotta be. Lance closes the distance between them, places a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Shiro.”

He’s not expecting it, a response. Assumes the man will pull back just like he always does. But he doesn’t. Instead, he closes his eyes, leans down, and.

And he kisses him.

It’s soft, hesitant, and it makes Lance’s heart go wild. But he has to know.

“Shiro, you know I like you, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you like me too, don't you?”

.

“Yeah.”

“So then what’s holding you back?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beta pointed out that Coran would actually make a great prostitute, as the last of the Alteans. I think he would be too much of a spaz.  
> I dunno. Somebody write an AU.


	9. Relentless

It takes Shiro a long time to find an answer. Lance watches the rise and fall of his chest through several breaths, the little twitches in his face as he rolls through each thought. He doesn’t say a word as he gives him time to come to a conclusion.

Lance is a patient person - you wouldn’t think this, since he’s also a very vocal person - but it’s true. When you grow up with as many siblings as he has, you learn to watch and listen for their body language, to give them time to take their turn, have their say.

Shiro looks down. “I just don’t get it,” he starts, “Why would someone like you want someone like me?”

.

_What?_

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I understand the question.” _Someone like him? Mature, funny, and gorgeous as hell?_

Shiro opens his mouth a few times, just to close it before any words come out. His posture shrinks, and he directs his gaze anywhere but up.

“I’m broken.” It comes out sounding like a fact. “I would only bring you down.”

Wait a second here- broken? _Would bring me down?_ Lance is stunned, doesn’t know what to think. Shiro’s saying that _he_ doesn’t feel like _he’s_ good enough? How could this possibly be?

_No, god, I can’t let him think this. Doesn’t he know how amazing he is?_

Lance is about to tell Shiro all the reasons why he’s very, very wrong, when the door to his room slides open. In walks Hunk, a platter of green in hand.

“Hey man, I thought you might be hungry so I brought you some food g-” He sees the two of them standing there, close, and stops in his tracks. “Is now a bad time?”

Shiro takes a step back, combs a hand through his hair. “No, I was just leaving. Lance, eat up and get some rest, okay? You won’t get another chance to sleep for a while.”

Lance wants to tell him to stay, that he’s not allowed to leave until he lists off every reason why Takashi Shirogane is the coolest person ever. But all that comes out is, “Okay, you too.”

And with that, Shiro is gone.

Hunk stands there frozen with his plate, looking like he just stepped on a lego. Lance figures that he’s probably wearing that expression too.

“I interrupted something _really_ important back there, didn’t I?”

Lance nods. It starts out shallow, but rapidly becomes more frantic. Soon, it gets to the level where Lance’s whole body is shaking along with his head. He can’t control the volume or pacing in his voice when he speaks next. “HUNK I NEED HELP.”

Hunk sighs, before a loving smile plays across his face.

“Alright, what happened this time?”

\--

 

The two sit on the floor, leaning back against the edge of Lance’s bunk. Slowly, the pile of goo diminishes as they take turns picking at it with a shared fork.

“So, like, telling him I’ve got the hots for him isn’t even the bad part anymore? And I’m pretty sure he likes me back, but then he says something ridiculous like-” slurp “-he doesn’t deserve me? Like, dude, if you don’t deserve me then who does? Here, your turn.”

Hunk takes a bite as he listens intently. “Well, it sounds like you’ve just gotta show him.”

“Show him what?”

He swallows. “That he _deserves_ you, duh. Give him some hugs or something, those always work.”

Lance runs his nails along his scalp, frustrated. “This whole thing just seems so surreal. I’ve got posters of the guy on my _wall,_ for fuck’s sake. Shouldn’t _I_ be the one feeling inferior?”

“Hey, Shiro’s human too, you know.”

“I know, it’s just I- I don’t know. Am I even allowed to act close to him like that? Isn’t that only something you can do when you’re dating?”

Hunk lifts an eyebrow as he hands him the fork. “Aren’t you?”

He takes it. “That _is_ the question.”

“Doesn’t really sound like a question to me. You’ve totally got affection privileges, dude. Use them.” Hunk stands up. “Sounds like both of you could benefit from it.”

Lance scrapes the last bit of food from the plate. “Are you going?”

“Yeah, I’m gonna be wise and get some sleep in before tonight. Guess that’s what happens when you have the most sturdy lion, you get to be the guy who blows stuff up if all else fails.”

“Alright, sleep tight buddy. And thanks.”

“Any time. Want me to take that back to the kitchen for you on my way?”

\--

 

It’s things like this, that make Shiro feel like he’s broken.

Picture this: coming home to the people you love, reuniting with the team that had kept you going, seeing everyone happy again. He should be treasuring it, should be thinking _yes,_ and _finally._ But the words won’t form in his brain, and he’s not sure why.

Well, he _is_ sure why, it’s just.

The _finally_ hasn’t come yet. The _finally_ might never come, as long as they’re fighting. The _finally,_ well, it probably won’t be coming home. It will probably be death.

Shiro is gross- flakes of dandruff falling from his scalp, a thin layer of crust and oil along his ears, his face. His armpits stink. The inside of his mouth is lined with plaque. And yet, he doesn’t want to go back to his room, would rather spend his time doing something productive, like help plan the mission, make sure there aren’t any loopholes. So no one will get hurt. So Lance won’t get hurt.

A cautious team leader. It’s not like he’s pretending, just masking his fear as something else.

When he gets to the dining room, Allura is already sitting at the head of the table, pen and paper in hand as concentration draws a thin line between her eyebrows. Upon hearing him enter, she looks up.

“Shiro, you’re just the person I wanted to talk to. Would you take a look over this time stamp and see if everything matches up?”

Competence is Shiro’s landing ground. If he is able to do something, and do it _well,_ it feels better than any other comfort. So the man invests himself in discourse, reads and rereads Allura’s plan, asks questions and poses suggestions, barely touches his food. Before he knows it, the whole team is sitting at the table too.

Suddenly, there’s a threat. A hand on his knee. The unanticipated sensory intake makes his whole body flinch. The words _don’t touch me_ make their way to the tip of his tongue, before getting cut off at his teeth. He looks over to see Lance giving him a loving smile.

_Things like this._

“Alright,” Allura begins, “Now that everyone’s here, let’s go over the plan one final time. Luds has located the group of prisoners that will be sharing the same transport ship as the Black and Blue lions. Lance and I will sneak on, and upon arrival Thace will pull us from the group to be taken to them. Pidge, you’re to make sure the timing is right when you shut down security.”

“Right. I can only do it once and for a few seconds without the Galra fleets noticing. So the three of you will only have a short window.”

“Shiro, Keith, you two are on standby inside the ship until I’ve finished the ritual. Hunk, you stay inside your lion, you will provide cover should anything go wrong. Coran will pilot the castle.”

That hand starts rubbing back and forth, a motion that would normally be soothing. It sends a shiver up Shiro’s spine. Lance speaks up. “Sounds good to me, princess. What about you, Shiro?” He tries not to let his whole body jolt as the slim fingers squeeze just barely over his kneecap.

“Huh? Right- yes, of course. Keith and I will be prepared.”

The rest of dinner goes by like something on the opposite side of a gate with a “keep out” sign. Every couple minutes, Lance will change the pattern of his touch- will put a head on his arm or link their ankles together, little signs of affection that should be causing Shiro to melt. That _could_  be, even, if he would just pull himself together.

You can’t force yourself to be calm. You can only wait until it comes to you, unmistakable.

Shiro counts his breaths. He eats his food. He listens to the conversation going on around him, the diction of each voice matched with each word. When it feels like a possibility, the man poses the idea inside his brain again.

_This is a threat._

No, it isn’t. This is Lance. The boy with messy hair and perfect skin, with a big mouth that isn’t the best at articulation. This is Lance, who is trying to show that he cares, probably in the only way he can. The overstimulation doesn’t vanish, but it does dull.

Shiro can’t think of this in terms of productivity, but it sure does feel like accomplishment when he’s able to join the conversation once again. He helps plan with Allura, he laughs at Pidge’s sarcastic jokes, he smiles when Hunk describes how he was able to see Shay.

By the time his plate is empty, Shiro has placed his hand over Lance’s, atop his knee. Interlaced their fingers.

\--

 

They’re not in a rush, though they probably should be. Hands held loosely together, the two wander their way down the hall in silence. It’s pleasant, for once. Despite all the questions he has himself, Lance finds stability in being resolute. Every once in awhile, Shiro will send him a curious glance. And him? Each time, he’ll respond with a reassuring smile. Lance doesn’t really pay attention to where they’re walking, but somehow, they make it to the door of Shiro’s room.

“See?” he says, “Aren’t I a gentleman? I even walked you home. Next time, I’ll have to bring flowers and chocolates.”

Shiro turns so that they’re facing each other. Their hands almost slip out of touch, but before they lose contact, Lance goes to hold on tighter. The sudden grip shakes the older man into speech.

“Is this?”

“Yes.”

“Are we?”

“Yes.”

Lance can feel Shiro searching his eyes for any signs of doubt, hesitation. And in that moment, he finally gets it.

_He wants me to be really, really sure._

_Good thing I am, huh._

Lance doesn’t waver, not even for a millisecond.

And it’s like magic. All the tension leaves Shiro’s body, giving way for the most beautiful smile the boy has ever seen. He couldn't look away even if he tried.

_“Okay.”_

Before he knows it, Shiro is wrapped around him, strong arms holding his entire body tight. It happens so fast that his first thought is _smells good,_ rather than _I’m being hugged._ When his brain finally does catch up, he folds himself into it, linking his hands around the man’s back and squeezing as hard as he can. It’s different, this. Sure, he would die for the chance to feel one of his mother’s hugs, and loves Hunk’s wherever he can get them- but this feels like triumph, like adoration.

_Finally._

When Shiro speaks, Lance can feel the vibration against his chest. “Good luck tonight. Take care of yourself, okay?”

“You too.”

\--

 

Allura looks like a fucking goddess. It’s seriously not okay. Silky white hair flows down to her ankles, curling to create a halo of ringlets around the two new horns that sprout from her head. She doesn’t increase in height much, but her facial features change completely, to look as if they’ve been blended with those of a fawn. It’s like she’s become something out of a children’s fantasy book, or like, a celestial wet dream.

Lance doesn’t look half bad himself. Before transforming, Allura had made him up to look not so obviously human. Alien makeup is pretty cool, he must say. His eyes seem like they’re a completely different shape and his hair looks like it’s been mixed with iridescent scales. Other than that, he did some basic stuff - plumped lips, elongated nose - the result made him really actually look pretty alien.

They would have stuck out like a sore thumb had they worn armor, so the two opted for clothes that were sturdy and flexible. Easy to run in, should the need arise. They shuffle forward in a line of prisoners, leering soldiers goading them on as they make their way inside the giant purple ship. The halls are dark, Lance has to hold onto the back of Allura’s shirt to make sure he doesn’t lose her. They make it to a room that has no windows, no furniture, just confused and scared people huddling around on the floor.

Lance feels his stomach turn.

At the end of the day, they get to escape all this, get to go home when their mission is compete. They’ve got that privilege. But these people? No. Each and every one of them, from now on, is going to have to face this life. Allura walks in front of him, seemingly unphased- but how could she? This is their _lives_. It’s- this-

This was _Shiro’s_ life.

He grimaces. They sit down.

“You’re upset, aren’t you Lance?”

.

“Is it that easy to tell?”

She scoots so that their knees are touching. “I know it’s terrible. But remember, _this_ is exactly the type of thing we’re fighting. These people are the universe that we are defending.” She slips her hand over his. “Right now, you need to stay strong.”

She’s right. He knows it. This is the same situation he had gotten into with Shiro, wanting to do something _right now._ When in reality, the solution isn’t that simple. He closes his eyes.

“That’s the way,” she soothes, “think about something that makes you happy, like your boyfriend, or-”

He opens them. “My boyfriend?”

She looks surprised. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to- that’s what you two are, isn’t it? You and Shiro.”

_Oh yeah, that’s right, huh?_

He smiles, a slight blush settling in his cheeks. “Yes. My boyfriend.”

“So, how did it happen?” Her expression turns taunting. “Did you just hit on him enough until he finally said yes?”

“Hey! I’ll have you know I-” He pauses. “Well actually, yeah, that sort of _is_ what happened, but it’s not what you think.”

She rolls her eyes, giggles. Lance can tell what Allura is trying to do, it’s a tactic he himself uses all the time. She’s _distracting_ him. And boy does he need it.

 _Thank you, Allura,_ he thinks. Doesn’t say it out loud.

The crowding doesn’t stop after they sit down. There’s gotta be at least 30 other people that enter in after them. They had decided earlier that they best stay near the door for when Thace comes to get them, but it’s the most cramped spot in the room. Once everyone is loaded on, two Galra soldiers enter, sliding the heavy door shut behind them with a startling bang.

They’re laughing about something, the soldiers. Jaunting around, clearly not paying attention to the task at hand. One of them takes off his helmet, looking over the sea of prisoners. “Wow, what a shit haul this time around. Where’d you get ‘em from, terminal lockdown?”

“Don’t be a dick. As long as they’ve got a decent face, and a hole to stick it in, I’m doing my job right. Don’t question it.”

“Fine, boss. I suppose I like that one… oh and that one. Oh and her over there! The things I’d do to that body, am I right?”

“Hold on a second, can’t see a damn thing in this light. Let me just…” The other soldier takes off his helmet, and-

_Shit._

A distinct bell rings in his head.

“ _Then you understand, Lance Oslow.”_

Lance ducks down, tries to keep himself out of sight. The guy had warned him not to leak anything to the press. _Technically_ he never said that sneaking in as a prostitute to steal Zarkon’s most treasured weapon was against the rules, but hey. They can’t stand out, and if this guy recognizes him, it’s over.

The guy recognizes him. It’s stupid, really. Lance glimpses up to see if he’s looking their way, and next thing he knows it they’re making eye contact. He saunters over, eyes squinted to create a thin line of yellow light. “Hey, don’t I know you from somewhere?”

Lance panics, tries to look away, ignore him. _Maybe if I hide my head more he’ll just go away._ It’s a false hope. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

He’s seen it fail in slapstick cartoons a thousand times, and yet, Lance can’t think of anything else. He tries to alter his voice, raise it a pitch so that it doesn’t sound like the all too familiar one from when he’d talked to the soldier before. “Oh, haha, no I don’t think so.” _Wow,_ next time they go on an undercover mission, remind the team not to send _him._ That sounded like the most faked, awkward thing he’s ever heard in his life.

“I’m sure I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

God, it’s not only been ten minutes and they’re already gonna blow it? This is _bad._ Lance looks to Allura, distressed. Her face doesn’t even flinch.

“You might think that,” she says, “because it’s built into his race. His hormones cause even strangers to find him familiar. That’s why they pulled him from his cell, because horrible people like you are willing to pay good money to have sex with a stranger that feels like a long lost love.”

He turns to her, outraged, ready to make it clear that she is not allowed to talk out of turn. “What was that, scu-” That is, until he sees her face. “Well _hello,_ what do we have here? Did you read the encyclopedia as a kid, little girlie?”

“No. I’m just a friend.”

Lance can feel the rumble of the ground as the ship sets for takeoff. He physically unwinds when he realizes her explanation has hooked.

“Huh. I’ve never tried that before. What are both your names? Maybe I’ll start a queue this time around.”

Allura is _good._ Lance isn’t sure how she does it, keeps an air of total calm. While he’s busy trying not to gag, scream, or worse, she introduces them with a steady voice. False names, of course. After a confident smirk and a painfully slow leer, he goes back to stand next to his friend.

“How did you do that? Where’d that explanation come from?” It’s the quietest whisper you’ve ever heard, hands cupped around her ear to block the flow of sound.

She mimics his gesture when it’s her turn to talk. “I wasn’t lying, exactly. I am a friend, just to a different species- Irrian, I think they’re called. Why did he recognize you anyways?”

“He was one of the dudes who caught me when I first discovered this was happening. He’s like mafia or something, I swear to god, we _don’t_ want to get on his bad side.”

Allura shakes her head. “We won’t even have the chance. Pidge and Luds swore this was the correct ship. As soon as we’ve made it out of the atmosphere, Thace should be opening that door.”

The two huddle together, try to take up as little space as possible. It doesn’t take long before a third Galra soldier enters the room, this one with a strong jaw, a small goatee, and tufts of purple fur combed up into two points. Lance tries not to show the signs of reaction, of recognition. The picture Chief had showed them.

_That’s our guy._

Allura gives him a small tap on the underside of his calf, a signal they had both agreed on prior to the mission. He tries not to watch as the scene plays out before him. It had all been planned in advance- each step that would get them from point A to point B. Like magic, the soldier goes through every predetermined action. The letter is pulled out and presented. The finger is pointed in their direction. The words _‘official’_ and _‘mandatory’_ move across his lips. When he’s done speaking with the other men, Thace turns to them.

“Prisoners numbers G-7 and G-8, please come with me.”

And with that, they’re gone.

\--

 

As soon as the door slides shut behind them, Thace’s intimidating attitude does a 180. He puts out a hand. “Hi, you must be Lance and Allura. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“Likewise,” The Altean steps forward - power stance on - and gives his hand a firm shake. “Have all the preparations been made?”

“Sure have, Chief gave me the signal about an hour back. She hasn’t contacted me since, so there shouldn’t be any changes. Here, your coms.” He drops a small earpiece into each of their palms.

Lance hooks it around the shell of his ear, clicks the little button on its side.“Testing, testing, 1-2-3. You guys all here?”  

“ _Hey! Lance!”_ It’s Hunk. “ _Glad to hear you’re alright, buddy. What about Allura?_ ”

“Right here,” she says. It’s weird to hear her two times over- once through the com, and once because she’s literally standing right next to him. “How are things going as far as security?”

Pidge speaks up. “ _Everything’s in order to shut the system right down, you just give the word.”_

“Perfect. Alright, Thace. Let’s head out.”

They walk down the hall with careful awareness, checking each corner before they round it. Every once in awhile, another guard stalks past, and Thace goes to hold them both by the wrists in feigned aggression. Once they’re at a reasonable distance, he lets go.

“So, um, if you don’t mind me asking,” Lance begins, “how exactly did you end up in this - er - position?”

Thace looks down at him. “You mean, working for Chief? Or working for Chief _here?_ ”

“Kinda both? I dunno. I’m just curious, I guess.”

“I, too, would like to know,” Allura chimes in. Was that- a little distrust in her voice? Where did _that_ come from?

Thace doesn’t seem to notice. “I was working for the Galran military for many years. Of course, I never really fit in, not wanting to participate in the recreationally violent acts of the other soldiers. I was already questioning my morals when I met someone. She was…” he pauses, swallows. “Beautiful. And she was off limits, an active member of the rebellion. Of course, the young me didn’t listen to that and ended up getting her pregnant.”

“So you’re a father?” Lance asks.

.

Thace sighs. “Honestly, I don’t know. She was killed before I could see her again. Chief told me it was in the heat of battle, but for some reason I think she’s not giving me the whole truth.”

“This girl,” Allura probes, “she wasn’t Galran, was she?”

“No.”

The discussion ends when the three of them stop in front of a towering gate, huge metal bolts holding each panel in place.

 _So this is it,_ Lance thinks. His heart jumps in his chest, stomach filling with butterflies. _I’m going to get to hear Blue again._

“This is where I have to leave you two alone. I wish you all the best of luck.”

Allura nods. “Thank you.” She presses a finger up against her com. “Pidge, we’re ready.”

And the gate begins to move.

\--

 

Lance runs at his lion way faster than one probably should when they’re headed toward a giant metal space cat. But he doesn’t care, bears the slapping pain and the cold of her surface when his body smacks against her head. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he whispers to her sturdy walls, “so glad.”

“Alright,” a voice comes from behind him, “I should begin as soon as I can, in case we get caught. I’m not entirely convinced that Thace will keep us secret.”

Lance turns, confused. “Why wouldn’t he? He’s part of the rebellion.”

“Yes, but he’s also _Galra.”_

_._

_What? Why would she-_

“Is that the only reason you distrust him?”

“Yes, so?”

“It’s just that that’s kind of. Um.” _Prejudiced? Narrow minded?_ “I mean, you don’t even know him.”

“That’s exactly my point. Now, let’s get started.” She walks over to sit between the two lions. “You stand guard, alright Lance?”

“Uh, yeah.”

Allura takes a deep breath, and the floor starts to pulse with light beneath her body. Within minutes, she’s fallen completely into a trance. Lance can only stand there and watch, still trying to process the words that came out of her mouth.

_Did that really just happen?_

\--

 

“So like, what’s up with you two?”

Shiro and Keith are walking down a cramped hall on the ship, dressed to mimic the metal bodies of the drones. Shiro is just tall enough to pull it off. But Keith? It’s really just a false hope.

“I’m not completely sure myself,” Shiro says, “A lot of things happened since the crash. So- we’re together now?” It sounds more like a question than a statement.

Keith scoffs. “Wow, really? Your standards sure have dropped since the Garrison, buddy. Weren’t you even dating a model that one time?”

“My standards haven’t dropped. Lance is- he’s kind. I really like him.”

“Alright, alright. Whatever floats your boat. I’m just saying, it’s not fair. You didn’t even have a speck of acne, for christ’s sake! What teenager is like that?”

“Hey, yours is starting to go away.”

“Are you kidding? I’m still oily as hell.”

Shiro laughs.

An alarm sounds through the entire ship.

They’re off sprinting in a second. Shiro hears Pidge’s voice through the com, saying _“I swear I had it perfect.”_ and _“I don’t know what’s going on, they went in just fine!”_ Keith trails behind him as they barrel up stairs, around corners, and into the main part of the ship. There, several soldiers stand on alert. Guns start firing without question when they see the two standing there. Keith readies his bayard. Shiro’s hand glows. But before he has the chance to fight, his friend calls out to him.

“I can handle this! You go on ahead.”

A swing comes at him. He dodges. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. You need your lion more than I need help. Now get your ass out of here!”

Shiro hears open fire echo down the halls as he runs.

\--

 

It probably wasn’t courage, Lance thinks. Not strength, _certainly_ not intelligence. The Blue paladin. The right leg. Was it even important, what Allura was going to say, all that time ago?

When he was foolish. When he interrupted her just to make another joke.

It has killed him since.

Thace doesn’t betray them- it’s the man who only knew him by _Oslow_ who triggers the downward spiral. Not soon after Allura begins the ritual, he comes into the room, tells him that he _knew_ it, that they seemed suspicious from the start. He takes a cyber-enhanced fist to the alarm, smashes the glass casing to get to the switch below.

Lights flash.

Sirens blare.

From that moment on, everything seems like it’s part of a dream.  

Lance remembers several things. He remembers the man taking swings at him, dodging and dodging and dodging again. Taking a blow to the face and tasting the iron in his mouth. He remembers the sting, the curl, the panic as his fight-or-flight kicks into full gear. Protect Allura first, then worry about yourself. Fight for what’s really important here. _Prioritize._

He doesn’t remember defeating the guy, but he _does_ remember seeing his unconscious body on the floor.

He remembers Shiro walking in at that moment, a worried expression sinking into his face. Wondering why it’s always _him_ that makes him look that way. Is it recklessness? Is it inexperience? He runs toward him, a shaken mess.

Lance is in love with Shiro.

He’s in love with Shiro and he doesn’t understand why Shiro loves him back. The Blue lion. The interrupter. The boy without a driving force.

He remembers choosing not to hug Shiro, in fear of getting blood on his clothes. Being pulled in anyways, trying to keep the salty burn from finding his eyes. Without warning, Shiro’s muscles go into shock. He remembers wanting to help, _being ready_ to help.

Of course, he isn’t really.

He remembers an old woman's voice saying a word he wants to banish from the universe.

_“Champion.”_

It’s the only word he can hear over the sound of sirens, picks it out from the ambience and refuses to let it resonate past his own ears. It’s too late, though. Shiro’s pupils shrink, his hands tremor, his breath thins. And then.

Lance turns around to see the purple cloak, the inky fog. The woman stands there, smiling in a way that would give even adults nightmares _._ Lance remembers thinking at this moment, _I have to fight. This is my fight._ Of course, it _isn’t_ his fight, but how is he supposed to know that?

He doesn’t have his bayard, but the spirit’s all there. He runs into the cloud of black.

Lance remembers the resounding _clunk_ as his head hits the ground. The sharp pain in his gut. Remembers the fading noise, the blurry _“no!”_ off in the distance.

\--

 

When they say that life flashes before your eyes when you die, they’re lying.

\--

 

Shiro is _angry._


	10. Vast

This isn’t what he wanted, isn’t how he sees himself, Shiro. But here it is, rage and horror at rage, like dull scissors cutting at the seams. The slip happens so fast he doesn’t even know when or how it occurs. 

One minute, Lance is in his arms. 

The next minute, Lance is gone from his arms. 

Shiro watches as his body flies across the room, as it hits the ground with an appalling  _ thunk.  _ He freezes, can’t look away as blood soaks through his shirt. A scream sounds through the room. His throat hurts. 

That’s it. He slips. 

Shiro doesn’t care about culture, doesn’t give  _ two shits  _ about whatever a good Galra is or if it even  _ exists.  _ In his eyes, they’re all Haggar. All evil. 

He runs at her in a fit of fury, ears ringing, eyes blurry at the edges. The smoke surrounds his body, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest- one fist grabs her by the collar, and the other goes in for the kill. The mechanical Galran arm, the  _ thing  _ that is permanently fused to his real human flesh, packs quite a punch. In an instant, she is down on the ground. That doesn’t stop him. Again and again, his knuckles meet her body. The sound it makes, the feel against his scratched up fists, he takes it all in. 

And he  _ enjoys  _ it. 

Shiro knows how fucked up that is. But after all he’s been through, all  _ she put him through,  _ he doesn’t care. He can’t stop. He  _ won’t  _ stop. 

If he were thinking rationally, Shiro would realize that Haggar isn’t fighting back. If she was,  _ she _ wouldn’t be the one against the ground right now.  _ She _ wouldn’t be the one getting torn apart. Haggar is too powerful to get defeated so easily, could push him from the realm of life to death in  the blink of an eye. 

Shiro isn’t thinking rationally, though. 

Hell, he isn’t even thinking at all. His body moves without making that extra stop at his brain, even as his ears process each gruesome crunch. A sturdy hand finds its way around her neck, pushes down. Shiro can feel his entire being cling to the need to make this woman suffer. 

The air stills.    
The alarm ceases to exist. 

Everything stops, because through the messy curtains of her hair, Haggar smiles. 

“ _ Good,  _ Champion. That’s the way.” 

She falls into unconsciousness. 

.

Shiro can’t move,  _ he has to move,  _ he can’t move. His knees won’t hold him up. He’s barely able to push himself to the side so that he won’t collapse onto the woman’s body, but when he does, his senses kick into full gear.  _ No, no this is all wrong, I can’t have done this, I didn’t do this.  _ He scoots up against the opposite wall, attempts to get as far from the scene as he possibly can. This time, he  _ tries  _ to scream. It doesn’t come out. 

He’s not sure how long he stays like that, against the wall, rubbing and wiping at his hands in attempt to get something off,  _ anything  _ off. 

“Shiro. Shiro! Snap out of it.” It’s Allura’s voice. He keeps rubbing, can’t bring himself to respond. 

“Listen to me. Lance is alive, but just barely. If we don’t get him back to the castle now, I can’t say what will happen. I need you to do something for me, Shiro.” 

At that, his head shoots up. 

_ Lance is- he’s alive?  _

Shiro’s vision comes back into focus, his breathing becomes less erratic. He spits out a single word without a broken voice. “Anything.” 

“Good. I’m going to take Lance in the Black lion, so you need to pilot Blue.” 

_ What? _

“I can- I can take Lance in Black, won’t that be better?” 

“Frankly, I don’t think you’re in the right condition to take that on.”

“But-”  _ it’s my responsibility.  _

“Listen Shiro, Lance will be okay, but only if you do this. Now isn’t the time to hesitate.” 

.

“Alright.” 

Shiro tries not to look at the bodies as he moves across the floor, holding his breath until he reaches Blue’s control room. Many parts of her are still broken- glass remains shattered on the floor, dried moss wraps every surface. He doesn’t know how he’s going to do this, connect to a lion that isn’t his own. Hell, he hasn’t even felt  _ Black _ since Allura supposedly fixed her. For a moment, Shiro panics. 

That is, until an unfamiliar consciousness comes flooding into his head. 

_ “Alright,”  _ Allura’s voice sounds through the com,  _ “let’s get out of here.”  _

\--

 

Shiro never understood how the lions worked, but he didn’t really question it. The information he received was contradictory, the thoughts that poured into his own were magical, and it all just seemed to make sense. A lion chooses it’s paladin, Allura had once said. But is that really true? To him, it seems more like friendship, or love, the way two people can run into each other as strangers and build an unforgettable bond over time.  

She had probably just said that to make them feel special, because right now, she pilots Black just fine. 

There are several things that force Shiro into a different mindset. The first, of course, is Lance- saving his life becomes top priority, more than Haggar, more than anything else. The second is how easily Allura connects with Black, how she’s flying out of there before he even has the chance to sit down. And the third- 

It’s overwhelming. 

Blue doesn’t find him in a trickle. The moment he reaches out, the gates burst, and without warning, her awareness mixes with his. But it’s not just her awareness that he receives. When Shiro had first found Black, she was a blank page. Blue is not a blank page. She is anything but.

Blue is Lance. 

Well, not exactly. But she holds him. His every gesture, his every passing thought, she cradles it like a doting mother. And perhaps she’s all too willing to share. Because Shiro, he sees it all. 

It’s his own back from behind. It’s longing, wonder, the desperate need to  _ touch  _ and  _ have  _ and  _ know.  _ It’s late nights listening to an entire playlist of tacky pop, staring at the bedroom ceiling and craving something that he cannot have. 

It’s admiration. Respect. So much he can hardly believe it. Shiro remembers his five minutes of fame, those couple cameras pointed in his face when he was accepted into the Garrison. But he never thought- that someone would actually- his posters? Did he even make posters? He can feel the inspiration that his own face brings, feel the blurred line between passion and idolization.The handshake was in passing, something he hadn’t really thought about other than being glad to meet someone new. But for Lance, apparently, it was the  _ world.  _

It’s the burn of separation. Wanting to taste his mother’s cooking and listen to his sister talk about boys. It’s using jokes to cover up his loneliness, hoping someone will humor him and just laugh. It’s trying again and again, practicing in the training room when no one else is awake, thinking that if he doesn’t do this, he’ll drag down the team. 

It’s having no idea what to do, but ferociously trying to do it nonetheless. 

Before Shiro has time to respond, they’ve made it back to the castle, and his connection with Blue comes to a startling halt. 

\--

 

Soundless. 

The infirmary is different than any other room in the castle. It’s dim, empty, claustrophobic. Pods sit in a circle waiting to be filled, matching the dark grey walls, the dark grey ceiling, the dark grey floor. It doesn’t try to hide itself for what it is- somewhere only visited when something has gone wrong. 

Most of the pods are tucked away, actually. That is, save for one. 

Shiro sits against the shallow steps in the center of the room. The body is frozen still, the eyes are peacefully closed. If his shirt wasn’t soaked with blood, Lance wouldn’t even look like he had just been fighting death only hours before. And Shiro, he can’t look away. Guilt isn’t the right word to describe it- that implies blame. But this is past the point of blame, is a fight far too complex to name the bad guy or the good. Lance could have died. And it’s  _ Shiro’s  _ fault. And it’s the Galran army’s fault, and it’s Zarkon’s fault, and it’s Allura’s fault, and it’s  _ Lance’s fault.  _ Had Shiro not shared those fleeting seconds with Blue, he probably would never have understood this. Would still be asking why. 

It’s a shitty question to ask. Ignorant. Evasive. 

And yet, it was all he could come up with, over and over again. 

_ Why can’t I keep control.  _

_ Why did this have to happen to me.  _

_ Why would you even want me?  _

Maybe it’s about time to come to peace with the fact that some things don’t have answers. That some things just  _ are.  _

Shiro watches his beloved’s shallow breaths, his restless twitches in the pale blue light. 

“I thought you would be here.” Allura’s voice is hushed, like someone trying not to wake a sleeping child. “Mind if I join you?” 

Shiro nods, but he doesn’t turn his head her way. She comes to sit at his side. 

“I want to apologize,” she says, “for the way I acted back on the Galra ship. I knew you were hurting, and I wanted to be gentle. It just wasn’t the right time.” 

“No, you did the right thing.” 

He hears Allura shift beside him. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I did the  _ kind  _ thing. I can now though- go get some rest. You need to eat, and sleep.” 

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine here.” 

“No you’re not.” 

For the first time in hours, he takes his eyes off the glowing figure in front of him. The room seems blurry to his shrunken pupils, but Allura’s face soon comes into view. “Can I ask you something?” She nods. “How do you remain so calm in situations like these? How can you even handle being near a single Galra soldier after knowing what they’ve done?” 

She stops to think about it. When she gives her reply, it’s conviction. “That’s easy. Zarkon took away my family, my people, my home. I hate him. The hard part is remembering that hate is not why I’m fighting this war.” 

Shiro’s palm finds the center of his forehead, slides back so that his hairline is pulled tight. “I want to make it all better, Allura. I want to make the war end and get everyone back to their home safe and sound.” 

She sighs. “Me too.” 

“ _ He’s so in love with me.  _ I saw it all. What if I can’t help him? What if what he needs isn’t something I can provide?” 

“I’ve got a feeling you’re underestimating yourself, Shiro. Lance doesn’t want the perfect person. He wants  _ you.”  _ She smiles. “And I think I might have something that will help you both feel more secure.” 

_ More secure?  _ “What do you mean?” 

“Before the mission, I spoke with Luds about his connections within the galaxy. It turns out that Earth, your home planet, is more aware than you might think. They’ve got members of the rebellion who live there, who could deliver letters to family- if you want.” 

.

_ Oh.  _

Shiro can’t find a single word. His hair falls back down onto his face. 

Her expression turns warm. “You tell Lance when he wakes up,” she says, “I’ll let you have that. But- only if you promise me you’ll go get some sleep. I won’t leave his side even for a second, okay?” 

The man surprises even himself when he reaches to give her a hug. 

“Okay.” 

\--

 

The first thing Lance thinks when he wakes inside a cryopod, is that  _ this has got to stop happening.  _

He’s past the point of just being acquainted with them, now. Lance recognizes the chill that spreads evenly over his body, the strange inability to move, the feeling of loss. It’s a little like blacking out drunk, actually- except significantly and disturbingly more surreal. After all, when you black out drunk, you don’t usually wake up in a sci-fi-esque capsule in the middle of outer space. 

The worst part of the process is when the window slides open, when you have to learn to use your legs again for the first time in who knows how long. He doesn’t know how these magic healing things work, Lance- but he does know that when the process is over, it feels like his entire body has been torn down and rebuilt from the bottom up. He topples out, dizzy, and looks around in a fuzzy daze. 

Lance keeps not dying. He wonders why each time, he expects otherwise. 

It’s Allura’s figure that he sees first, arms making a pillow as she rests her head at the top of the steps. Upon hearing movement, she looks up, face falling into relief when she sees him standing there. She gets up onto her feet and goes to support him, grabbing his waist and slinging one arm up over her shoulders. 

“I’m so happy to see you’re okay, Lance. For a while we weren’t sure if you were going to make it.” 

Lance tries not to visibly collapse as Allura sits him down. “So, how many free stays in the pod do I get before I start paying rent?” 

She scowls. “Lance.” 

“Sorry, sorry. Was it really that bad?” 

The girl goes into full mom mode, ready to give him a lecture. But right as she’s about to start, members of the team start trickling in. 

First, it’s Hunk. “Lance!” His arms are around him in a hot second. “Dude, you’re alive, jesus. You gotta stop doing shit like that. I was so worried about you.” 

Then Pidge. “Lance, you’re awake!” She comes in to ruffle his hair. “You had me scared there, nerd. Glad you’re okay.” 

Keith, next. “What are you, immortal?” But he’s smiling. 

A pat on his shoulder comes from behind. “A couple more times in the cryopod, and he might as well be.” It’s Coran. “Good to see you alive and kicking, my boy.” 

It feels-  _ nice.  _ To have everyone around him like this, to be embraced on all sides. Lance isn’t ready for it, had expected it to be like last time, waking up to backs turned, quick dismissal. He soaks it in, sleepy, spacy body drowning in the warmth. And it’s not just the team that makes him feel that way. 

It had been so silent, before. But now she’s back, teasing at the edge of his mind. 

Blue. 

Love is a weird thing. Love is like scratching at the surface until you realize that you’ve dug yourself in deep. It’s terrible, and it’s wonderful, and it’s just the gap that Lance had been trying to fill. He had almost forgotten what it was like to have her there - not quite - but it felt like he was coming close. It’s all here, now. Like smelling a scent from childhood and being transported back in time. The moment he recognizes her scratching at his surface, he lets her in, deep. 

The moment passes all too soon. Hunk goes to release him and Pidge takes her hand off his head. Lance looks around at the faces in front of him, and realizes that one is distinctly missing. 

“Where’s Shiro?” he asks. 

The question is answered instantly when the disheveled man comes wandering into the room. “Allura, any upda-” He freezes when he sees Lance sitting there. 

Time stops. Tears start rolling down Shiro’s face. 

Lance isn’t sure when it happens, but the dizziness wears off in exchange for full-throttled purpose. He practically gallops toward Shiro, and rejoices as the man scoops him up in his arms, squeezes him so tightly that he could vanish into the embrace. By the time they loosen their hold on each other, the two boys are all alone. 

“You,” Shiro whispers. 

_ “You,”  _ Lance responds. 

\--

 

Tired legs intertangle at the foot of the bed. The gaze is strong- the astonishment, the awe, the affection. They lie facing each other - not close, exactly - just far enough to take in the person before them. Shiro has a scar that spans from cheek to cheek, darkening the skin in its path. Funny, Lance had never noticed it before, had always been too busy gawking at his fierce eyes, his laugh lines, his strong jaw. Things that were too far out of reach or, too high on a pedestal or- maybe he just hadn’t been able to take off his own lens. He reaches up to touch it, traces a finger along the rough line of skin. Shiro doesn’t move. 

“You’re really pretty, you know that?” 

The man blinks. “Pretty?” 

“Yeah.”

His fingertip moves to the side of his cheek, down his chin, neck, adam’s apple. He pokes it like a button, feels it bob up and down when Shiro swallows. He smiles. “I’m really glad you’re alive.” 

Lance can feel the puff of hot air on his face every time Shiro breathes out, takes pleasure in the fact that it’s steady. He goes to speak again, but Shiro beats him to it. “I wasn’t scared, when I saw your body fly across the room. It horrifies me now, my brain could only respond with violence.”

Further, the hand drifts over his collarbone. 

“Lance, you have to promise that you’ll never sacrifice yourself like that for me again.” 

He wants to say yes, he opens his mouth in promise, but- “I can’t. If it’s save you, I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” He pauses. “Besides, the team needs you more than they need me.” 

It’s not a pretty face, that Shiro makes at that. A mix of sadness and anger. Bruising where it shouldn’t be. 

“You’re wrong.” 

.

“I’m wrong? About what?”

“You are valuable asset to the team. You’re compassionate, and resourceful, and charismatic to the point where it’s scary. And when we’re not on a mission, you help remind everyone that we can still enjoy the little things, like dumb jokes and dancing and bad music.” Lance is ready to argue that last statement, because  _ hey,  _ but he isn’t done. “And  _ I-”  _ he blushes, “I think you’re also really, really pretty.” 

Lance’s cheeks ache as he mimics him. “Pretty?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Shiro says. 

The hand drifts further still, down and over the man’s heart. 

“You too.”

“I know. You said that.” 

They stay like that for a long time, looking at each other from opposite sides of the bed. Shiro’s heartbeat is steady, even, warm. It’s the most comforting thing Lance has felt since getting here, since becoming a paladin and being cast off into the universe with only the instructions to  _ ‘go save it.’  _ Nothing about this is frantic or rushed- they’re not trying to survive on some deserted planet, or trying to make last minute money to live through the night. They’re not fighting Galra and they’re not defending the universe, they’re just-

_ Here.  _

A few years ago, Lance would have melted into a puddle upon hearing that he’d be in this situation, sharing a moment like this with Takashi Shirogane. It’s not hero worship anymore, is it? Or a hopeless crush. 

The boy giggles. “If you only really knew, though. What I thought of you. I’m such a dork.” 

“I know.”

“Wow, rude.” 

Shiro huffs. “No, wait, not that you’re a dork. That came out wrong. I know what you thought of me.”

_ What?  _ “How?” 

“When we were rushing you back to the castle, Allura piloted the Black lion for safety. I took Blue. And well, I guess- part of your consciousness had melded with hers. I didn’t know you thought so much about me before Voltron.” 

_ Oh- oh jeez.  _ Lance’s face runs hot, burning all the way up to his ears. “Dammit, Blue.” 

Shiro laughs. It rumbles beneath his fingertips, fills the room. Lance wants to laugh too, or cry, or  _ something-  _ he can’t tell exactly what emotion it is that he’s feeling, but it’s hitting him like a brick wall. 

When it dies down, Shiro speaks again. “The team loves you, you know. And me, I do too.” He stops, regains himself. “I love you.” 

Lance doesn’t even pause.  _ “God  _ I love you.” It comes out in a rush of breath. 

“We’re a couple of idiots, aren’t we.”

“Yeah, we are.”

And perhaps that’s all that either of them really needed to hear. 

Shiro takes the hand on his heart and urges it to move up around his neck. He grabs Lance by the waist, and pulls gently, hoping to close the distance between them. The boy relaxes into it, comes so that their bodies are flush against each other, so that his leg is wrapped around Shiro’s hip. His nose finds the crevice of the man’s neck, breathes in his scent. Endorphins flood his body as he nuzzles closer.  _ How nice,  _ he thinks. 

The sheets shift as Shiro angles downward to kiss the top of his head. And damn, if this isn’t the most pleasant thing that Lance has ever felt. He sighs at the loving gesture, and goes to do the same. All he can reach, though, is Shiro’s neck. When he places a kiss there, he feels the man’s breath hitch.

_ Oh.  _

He kisses him again, this time a little more heated. Just barely, Lance opens his mouth, and sucks gently at the tender flesh. Shiro gulps. 

_ Okay.  _

He does it again and again, each time more adventurous than the last. Nipping, then adding a bit of tongue, then grazing his teeth down the side. Lance can feel Shiro’s skin heat up below him, can feel the man’s breath quicken with each new introduction. It makes his stomach do a little flip flop, makes the blood seep into his cheeks and lower belly. He runs his nails through Shiro’s hair, and pulls his head to the side to get better access. Small sucks become hard, bruising, toothy. Shiro lets out a gasp. 

“Lance-” 

“Mm?” He doesn’t stop. Moves to the other side. 

“Lance please.” 

He manages to release the man’s collarbone to look up at him. For just a minute, really. Or that’s what he thinks. But when he sees Shiro’s face, all plans are scrapped. Because he needs to kiss him, now. 

Eyes half open. Lips parted. It’s-  _ hunger.  _ And this time, he doesn’t run. 

“Can I-?” Shiro asks. 

_ “Please.”  _

Their lips smash together. It’s messy, at an awkward angle, and anything but delicate. And Lance  _ loves  _ it. He pulls himself up to get better access, and the momentum carries his leg up and over Shiro’s side.  _ Fuck it,  _ Lance goes with it, boosting himself up onto his lap. In an instant, arms are wrapped around his waist, pulling his body back down and in for another kiss. Shiro growls against him, and the sound shoots straight to Lance’s loins.  _ Hello.  _

“Wow you’re really hot” slips out before he can stop himself. 

“ _ I’m  _ really hot,” Shiro responds, voice the sound of sex, “have you  _ seen  _ yourself?” Those strong hands make their way down his waist, over his hips, then. Lance whines when Shiro grabs his ass. “Is this okay?” he asks. 

“Yes. Very okay. More than okay, even.” 

Lance gives him a peck, then another, then goes in for a full, open mouthed kiss. His tongue explores the inside of the man’s mouth, and he moans when those hands tighter. One of them slides down in between his leg, and Lance involuntarily bucks. He pulls back. “Oh god, Shiro-” But Shiro won’t have it. The hand that isn’t occupied shoots, up, grabs the back of his head, and pulls his face back down so hard it almost hurts. He moans. 

Shiro’s skin is suddenly all he can think about- touching it, raking his nails across it, biting it until it’s laced with speckles of blue. Lance moves to tug at the man’s shirt, and suddenly a hand is over his. 

He pulls back. “Oh, did you not want-” 

Shiro shakes his head, frantically. “No, it’s not that, it’s just. My body.”

_ Yes, exactly.  _ “What about your body?” 

He breaks eye contact. “The scars. Before, at the water, you saw them. It’s not attractive.” 

Lance tries to use his blood-drained brain.  _ At the water? Like when we- when Shiro was shirtless?  _

“Dude.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Back then all I was thinking about was how to best hide my boner.” 

.

“Then-”

“Had I been given the luxury of my own room, that would’ve been jerk-off material for weeks.”

Shiro’s ready to argue some more, but he stops at hearing that. “... Jerk-off material?” 

Okay. Maybe Lance shouldn’t have said that. But it seems to get the ball rolling, so what the heck. He can handle a little embarrassment. “I mean,  _ yeah,  _ you’re really really attractive.” 

“Have you jerked off to me before?” 

Lance swallows. “You don’t think it’s creepy, do you?” 

“How often?”

“Since Voltron?” He takes a moment to think. “Maybe, a couple dozen times?” 

Shiro’s eyes go wide, his chest rumbles, and without warning, he flips Lance over onto his back. 

_ “Fuck,  _ Lance.” 

He bucks up against him. Groans. Plunges down to bite his neck, hard. 

“Oh, oh go- Shiro,  _ Shiro.” _ Lance scratches at his back, tugs at his shirt uncontrollably. Shiro sits up, pulls it off to reveal a painfully gorgeous chest, and dives in again. 

His deep voice does things to Lance that he can’t even describe.  _ “Don’t you know how hot that is?”  _ The boy can only respond with a choked moan, muffled by the sound of another sloppy kiss. 

Lance needs to touch Shiro,  _ now,  _ and damn well if he’s gonna restrain himself. He grazes his hands over muscle-clad arms, pecs, torso, until his palm is rested just above the man’s groin. He hesitates, briefly, then reaches down further, cupping his hand over the clothed length. Shiro’s whole body shakes, and he involuntarily presses his pelvis down into it.

_ Wow, um. _

_ Big.  _

He palms it a couple of times, until Shiro’s body is curled around him, a grunting, moaning mess. When he goes to stop, goes to catch his breath, Shiro pulls up and looks him dead in the eyes. 

“Clothes. Off. Now.”

Lance almost cums on the spot. 

Soon it’s shirts and pants, peeled ungracefully off bodies and thrown onto the floor. When Lance goes to take off his boxers, Shiro stops him. 

“Wait. You’re sure you’re okay with this?” 

The boy smiles, gentle. “Shiro, I have never been more sure about anything in my life. But-” he pauses. “What about you?” 

The man all but rips his boxers right off. 

It’s a tangle of limbs against limbs, flesh against flesh, neither one of them able to contain their moans as they grab at each other on the tiny mattress. Shiro moves down to suck on the divot of Lance’s neck, his nipple, his slim stomach. The boy squeals when he bites down on his side. 

“Shiro, that tickles!” 

When he hikes Lance’s legs up over his shoulders, there’s another squeal. Filled with lust. He nips the back of his knee, his leg, the inside of his thigh. Lance tries to speak, tries to tell him that he wants him and he’s beautiful and that if he doesn’t stop biting him he doesn’t know how long he’ll last, but all that comes out is,  _ “Please.” _

And that mouth, the one that had been getting painfully close to his dick? It doesn’t hold back. Hot slick around his raging erection, Shiro bobs down once, then twice, then is just about to set up a rhythm when. 

“SHIRO IF YOU DON’T STOP I’M GONNA-” 

It’s almost funny, really, the way Shiro’s mouth comes off with a ‘pop’. Lance would most certainly laugh if he wasn’t desperately trying to hold out. Suddenly, he’s being yanked down by the thighs, ass coming flush against Shiro’s pelvis. The man reaches up and sticks two fingers in his mouth, lathering them in spit, before reaching down. 

Oh, oh wow,  _ yes.  _

First one finger, shallowly in and out, testing the water. When it seems safe, Shiro adds another, pushing in up to the knuckle. Lance moans, needy and desperate. Tries to angle his body so that those fingers will hit just the right spot. 

“Lance,” Shiro whispers, “have you done this before?” 

“Yes, of course, don’t worry, now  _ please  _ keep going.” 

But the man pauses. 

“Shiro, what’s the matter?”

“No, nothing, it’s just that I thought that-” 

“What, I’ve never had sex?” 

He turns his head. “I- Yeah.” 

Lance laughs. “Dude, I would be offended, but I’m too busy thinking about how much I need you to fuck me into the ground.”

Shiro’s nostrils flare. 

Those fingers are back in him again in a millisecond- this time, less gentle. When one grazes over his prostate, Lance lets out a choked moan.  _ “Please, fuck, I need you now.” _

Shiro aligns the tip of his dick with Lance’s entrance, growling as he begins sliding inside. It’s slow, at first, making sure Lance is okay each step of the way. When he’s in up to the hilt, the boy is shaking underneath him, squeezing down involuntarily from the sheer overstimulation.  _ Wow,  _ again.  _ Big.  _

Shiro slides out, then in again, this time with greater force. He repeats the motion over, each time with more momentum than the last. Soon, they’ve built up a rhythm, steady and hard and nailing Lance’s prostate in  _ just  _ the right place. 

_ “Harder,”  _ the boy keens. 

_ “Can’t”  _ Shiro grunts out,  _ “wouldn’t be able to last.” _

.

Of course, neither of them lasts very long anyways. Soon, the man can’t help but pick up the pace, and god does it kill Lance. He writhes underneath that giant body, falling apart at the smell of sweat, the ache beneath his balls, the look on Shiro’s face. He reaches up and bites his shoulder in attempt not to wake the whole castle, and well. 

It keeps him quiet, sure. 

But it also has another effect. 

“Wait, Lance I-” Shiro grunts, and thrusts forward,  _ hard.  _ It makes Lance yelp. Soon he can feel Shiro’s length pulsing inside him, spilling seed so deep,  _ so good.  _

A calloused hand reaches to wrap around his cock, pulses up and down with all the force in the universe, and Lance. 

He follows. 

They collapse into a sweaty mess, Shiro’s warm body crushing his. Very carefully, the man pulls out. 

For the rest of the evening, the two just lay there, sweaty and gross and tangled so tight you couldn’t separate them even if you wanted to. And Lance? He just  _ loves  _ it. 

When it’s time to go to dinner, they head to the bathroom to take a shower. Lance is barely off the bed when Shiro grabs him by the wrist. 

“Hey, Lance?”

“Yeah?” 

“There’s something I want to tell you. It’s about Earth.” 

\--

 

It starts with a mischievous smile, a wink from across the room. Just a little bit, off the tip of one of the paladin’s spoons, flies across the table and hits Keith smack in the face. 

“What the fuck, Lance?” 

“Hey, you don’t even know it was me!” 

Green goo soars right back at him. He dodges, but there’s another, then another, then  _ another  _ until the whole team is ganged up trying to pelt him down. He grabs a fistful of the stuff, and throws it in Pidge’s direction. “Hey, what’s with this!? I thought we were a team!” 

“Hey man, you started it.”

“It wasn’t me!”

Soon, it’s an all out war, glops of green shooting left and right as Lance skillfully wards off the rest of the team. Plates become shields, spoons and forks become means of weaponry, and the walls make use of their waterproof nature. A smile finds itself on Shiro’s face as he watches the team run, screaming and giggling, around the table. He sits there, realizes he’s more content than he has been in a long time. That is, until-

“Uh, Shiro? A little help over to your boyfriend here?

“I was just waiting for you to say the word.” Shiro digs his hand into his food. 

_ Home, huh? _


	11. A Letter to Home

_ Mamá, _

_ Well, and everyone else. The first thing I want to say is that I’m alive. You were probably pretty worried about me, weren’t you? Well, I am. Some things happened, and now I’m in a position where I’m safe, but can’t come home. I’m sorry. I will visit you all as soon as I can.  _

_ How are you? I have made some good friends. You’ve met Hunk, he’s still with me. And Pidge, from the Garrison. She’s actually a girl, can you imagine!? And crazy intelligent, too. She can take a computer apart and put it back together in the span of an hour.  _

_ Then Keith, who’s a dick, but I kinda like him anyways. And Coran, who’s this weird dude with a Moustache and a New Zealand accent even though he’s not from New Zealand? It’s unclear.  _

_ Allura is kind of the team leader, so to speak. She is beautiful, and amazing, and I look up to her more than anyone in the world. That is, except you mamá.  _

_ And then, you’ll never guess who came into my life. Remember all that talk about Takashi Shirogane? He’s here, but not only that. After going through a lot of things, we’ve wound up together. Like, together together.  _

_ He’s the best person I could have asked for and more. He’s flawed, sure, but that just makes him all the more irresistible.  _

_ I’ve got love, mamá. You always said that was the most important thing.  _

_ I hope you’re all doing well. _

_ Love, _

_ Lance _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: hey all! Thank you so much for all the support you have shown this fic. It was really fun to write, so it's great to hear that it was really fun to read. Even now, in March, it still brings a huge smile to my face every time I get a comment from one of you lovely children.   
> I've got a Voltron blog now! Come hit me up and yell about shance (or any other ship and character for that matter) at manic-coranic.tumblr.com. Or at my main, tango1-1. I will flail wildly if you provide the reason.   
> Cheers!


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